


The Cruelest Month

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 91,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of hurt!Sam one-shot prompts given by readers featuring sick or hurt Sammy and caring, protective Dean. Written during the month of April, 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April's Fools

Dean stared guiltily at his hands clasped together on his knees. He didn't dare look up, knowing he'd only be met with his father's furious glare.

Dean hadn't meant for Sam to get hurt! Of course he hadn't. It was supposed to be a little prank. It was April Fools' Day after all.

That didn't change anything though. Dean had gotten Sam hurt. Dean should have known better. John had already told his eldest that about a hundred times as they waited in the hospital waiting room for news on their youngest family member.

Dean sighed. All he'd tried to do was cheer his brother up and have some fun.

SPN

Dean smirked as he shoved the clown mask into his duffel bag, hidden underneath the weapons they needed to take out the ghost.

"Are you ready?" John asked, shouldering his own duffel bag and grabbing the Impala's keys.

Dean nodded and followed his father out to the Chevy. Sam trailed along behind them.

"Wipe that frown off your face," John snapped at Sam as the boy climbed into the backseat of the car.

Dean settled down in shotgun and peered over his shoulder at his brother. Sam was moping, scowling.

He didn't want to go on this hunt. He'd rather stay at the motel and do homework.

But John needed them there. There were no other hunters in the area and their father couldn't get rid of the ghost by himself.

Besides, Sam could use the practice.

Dean turned around, thinking about the mask in his duffel and hoping that he might just be able to make this night a little more entertaining for his brother.

W

The manor house was huge. It had over a hundred different rooms from basement to attic.

It was old and moldering. A chain-link fence around the property deterred most people but there was always the odd drifter or group of nosy kids who found a way inside.

The resident ghost, a woman named Fern Gates, had been murdered by her husband and her body hidden somewhere inside the mansion. Fern wasn't exactly violent. Yes she was known to scare the living daylights out of anyone unlucky enough to see her, but she really posed no threat to the living.

But a ghost was a ghost in John's eyes and Fern Gates needed to be laid to rest.

W

The door creaked on rusty hinges as Dean pulled it open.

"You boys start on the top floor make your way down," John told his sons, "I'll work my way up from the basement."

Dean nodded and walked confidently across the dusty hardwood floors.

Sam said nothing. Dean knew he didn't think the ghost needed to be destroyed. That was why Sam was pouting. He had said as much to John and had been told to keep his mouth shut and do as he was told.

The stairs groaned underneath Dean's feet and he stepped carefully.

"Maybe she wants to go," Dean whispered to Sam, trying to defend his father's views, "It can't be much fun being stuck here."

Sam sniffed, "But she's not hurting anyone."

Dean shrugged and set his duffel down once they'd reached the landing. He grabbed a sledgehammer from the bag and held it out to Sam.

"What are you going to do?" the younger boy asked, taking the hammer.

"Look around for places a body could be hiding," Dean answered.

Sam frowned.

"Look, you do the grunt work for an hour and then we can switch, okay?" Dean said and Sam nodded, satisfied with that arrangement.

W

Dean didn't put on the mask right away. He really wanted to surprise his brother. After an hour of searching the house, he took over the hammering, smashing holes into the walls and floorboards in an attempt to find the body- and not just wantonly destroy private property- he claimed.

Dean waited until it was almost two in the morning. Sam was tired and irritable; definitely in need of a pick-me-up. Dean handed Sam to sledgehammer and walked away under the pretense of searching for Fern Gates' remains.

He could hear Sam swinging the sledgehammer from behind him as he ducked into an abandoned bedroom and pulled out the mask. Chuckling to himself, Dean slipped the rubbery face over his head and stepped from the room.

He could barely see with the mask but that was okay. He could hear the sound of his brother smashing the walls clearly enough.

At first Sam didn't notice Dean. He was too focused on his job.

Then, slowly, he looked to his side and saw his brother. The look on his face was priceless.

Sam had always been afraid of clowns. Dean didn't know why but it was hilarious. Sam's eyes widened and his mouth opened in an 'o' of surprise.

The boy began backing up.

Dean, unable to see much other than what was directly in front of him, didn't see that Sam was standing on the landing… and had begun to back up towards the staircase.

Dean smiled and jumped forwards.

Sam yelped and vanished from sight. A crashing sound followed the younger brother's disappearance.

Dean frowned, "Sam? You okay?"

Did he faint? Dean wondered.

There was no response.

Yanking the mask off, Dean's heart leaped into his chest when he was that he was standing in front of the empty landing.

Rushing forward, Dean's heart almost stopped at the sight of his brother lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

All mirth left Dean and he ran down the stairs, falling onto his knees beside his sibling.

Sam's eyes were closed and he wasn't moving.

"Sammy?" Dean said anxiously, mouth going dry at the sight of blood running down his brother's face.

"DAD!" Dean yelled and hastily felt Sam's neck for a pulse.

The stomping of boots announced John's arrival.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, kneeling down beside his sons, "Was it the ghost?"

Dean wanted to lie but he knew he couldn't.

"N-No, Dad," he said quietly, "I was trying to scare Sam, for a prank, and he just fell."

"Damn it," John swore, "We need to get him to a hospital."

Dean made to pull his brother up but John pushed him out of the way.

"I'll do it," he growled, "You've already done enough. Go gather the equipment."

Dean felt like crying. He knew he'd screwed up; John didn't have to rub it in.

He watched as John gathered Sam into his arms and began walking towards the front door.

SPN

Dean's stomach was twisted into knots. He didn't know what he had been thinking. He was supposed to keep Sammy safe and he'd hurt him.

He was a terrible brother.

"Family of Samuel Winchester?"

Dean looked up instantly at the sound of his brother's name and saw a middle-aged female doctor peering around with a clipboard.

"Here," John said and stood, "I'm John. Sam's father."

Dean got up as well, "Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor nodded and Dean felt relief wash over him.

"Sam has a concussion and he needed stitches for the gash in his forehead. He also dislocated his right shoulder. But, he's very lucky his injuries weren't worse. Sam will be bruised and sore for a couple of weeks but he'll make a full recovery."

"Thank you, Doctor," John said, "Can we see him now?"

Dean didn't look at John as they followed the doctor down the hall to Sam's room. Even though Sam was going to be okay, he knew his Dad was still angry with him.

The small family stopped outside the door as the doctor opened it with a smile.

"Use the call button if you need anything," she said and left the family alone.

Dean rushed into the room; heart hammering in his chest, an apology on his lips.

As soon as Sam saw him, he started laughing.

Both Dean and John stared at Sam.

It's the concussion, Dean thought; it's making him loopy.

Sam didn't look like he should be laughing. He had gauze covering one side of his forehead while blue and purple bruises began to darken all down the right side of his face. His right arm was resting in a sling across his chest.

"Sam?" Dean asked cautiously, "What's so funny?"

It took a moment for the younger boy to get his breath, "You."

Dean glanced at his father confusedly. John's eyebrows were furrowed in worry.

"Uh…" Dean began but then Sam continued.

"That was great! I wasn't expecting it at all."

The prank. The mask.

"Sam-" John began but his youngest continued speaking.

"I'm gonna get you back, Dean," Sam said, "One of these days."

Dean peered at his father before chuckling to himself. He was surprised when John even smiled a little. Even after getting hurt, Sam didn't blame Dean and still managed to act like the kid that he still was, despite being a hunter-in-training.

John just shook his head in disbelief.

Dean grinned, "Happy April Fools' Day, Sammy."


	2. Hide And Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-shot prompt given by mandancie: Sam gets sick and tries to hide it from Dean. Set in Season 1.

Sam knew he was getting sick the moment he woke up. His head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton balls and his muscles ached.

Sitting up tiredly, he ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Dean still sleeping in the bed next to his.

Without waking his sibling, Sam got out of bed and padded in his bare feet to the motel bathroom. Turning on the light, Sam squinted at his reflection in the mirror.

He looked fine. Tired, maybe, but when did he ever look well-rested?

The First Aid kit caught Sam's eye from where it sat on the counter next to the sink, forgotten after having been needed the night before.

Pushing aside rolls of gauze, packages of needles and antiseptic wipes, Sam found a bottle of ASA. Opening the childproof lid, the youngest Winchester shook two white pills onto his palm and swallowed them without water.

He couldn't afford to get sick. Not when Dean needed him to help find their father.

Putting the pills away, Sam carried the kit with him, placing it into his duffel bag.

From across the room Dean grunted and sat up. He blinked sleepily and groaned, "I guess you want to hit the road?"

Sam shrugged, "Dad's clearly not here so why should we stay?"

Dean nodded and stood, grabbing his duffel bag from where it sat at the end of his bed.

"I'll be out in few minutes if you want to pack the car," he told Sam as he shuffled into the bathroom.

W

Sam looked up when Dean slid into the Impala's driver seat and turned on the engine. He grimaced as his older brother turned on the radio and rock music exploded from the speakers.

Gritting his teeth, Sam didn't say anything as a headache began to form between his eyes.

"How'd you sleep last night?" Dean asked suddenly, mercifully turning the music's volume down.

Sam, caught off guard, blinked owlishly at his sibling for a moment.

"Anyone home?" Dean asked jokingly and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Okay, I guess," he muttered.

"Did you have anymore nightmares?" Dean wanted to know.

Sam shrugged noncommittally.

"That's not an answer," Dean chided, "Either you slept like a log or you didn't."

Sam scowled, "I didn't sleep well! Okay?"

Dean looked at him for a moment before turning the music up again, "Fine, Grouchy."

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, turning to peer out the passenger window.

"I saw her die again," Sam said quietly but Dean didn't hear him.

SPN

Dean watched critically as Sam picked at his salad. His own burger had tasted divine and he was currently polishing off a chocolate milkshake.

"We're not leaving until you clean your plate," Dean said.

Sam glared at him.

"I'm not a kid, Dean," he argued, "I don't need you telling me to eat my vegetables."

Dean smirked, "Clearly you do."

"Shut up," Sam muttered.

"That's mature," Dean commented, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam had been so stressed and on edge since leaving Stanford- since Jessica's death- and Dean hated seeing him like that.

Any chance he got, Dean tried to turn Sam's frown upside down, if only for a moment.

Sam pushed his plate away, "Are you going to finish that soon?"

Dean quickly drank the rest of his milkshake and slid some bills onto the tabletop for their waitress.

SPN

Sam just couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. The sleepless nights must be catching up with him.

Turning away from Dean, the young man closed his eyes.

Instead of letting him rest, Sam's achy muscles decided at that moment to remind him that he was coming down with something.

Sam shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position but finding it impossible to do so.

Giving up, he opened his eyes and stared out the window at the endless fields passing by on either side of the car.

"How long until we stop?" Sam asked Dean, raising his voice over the pounding of the music.

Dean looked at him; "I can pull over here if you need to take a piss."

Sam frowned, "That's not what I mean. Is there a town around here?"

Dean shrugged, "Dunno. There's a map in the glove compartment if you want to look."

Sam sighed and opened the compartment, taking a wrinkled and faded map out.

The printing on the map was small and so worn some of it was barely visible. Sam squinted and held the map close to his nose. Almost instantly his headache returned, throbbing between his eyes.

"There's a village called Henredon not too far from here," Sam said and folded the map.

"Sure, we can stop there for dinner," Dean said.

Sam didn't reply. He hoped they wouldn't do much more driving after Henredon; he really needed some rest.

W

Sam grabbed the First Aid kit from his duffel and opened it, smiling when he saw the blue and white ASA bottle.

Dean was in the shower so Sam had a chance to take the pills without his brother knowing.

Sam shook two out onto his palm, paused, and shook a third one out of the bottle. Swallowing them dry, Sam shoved the kit back into his duffel and grabbed his laptop and climbed onto his bed.

W

Dean stepped from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with the thin, white motel towel.

"She's all yours," he said as he passed Sam's bed and flopped down onto his own.

Sam grunted a response, attention focused on the game of Solitaire he was playing.

The sharp trilling of 'Smoke On The Water' filled the tiny motel room and Dean snatched his phone from the nightstand beside his bed.

"Dad? Dad! What the hell's-" Dean began but was interrupted.

"But… Dad-" Dean tried but couldn't get a word in, "Where-"

Dean lowered his phone and looked up at Sam.

"Dad says we've got to get going."

Sam frowned, "What? What do you mean?"

"He said we have to go to this place called Buxton," Dean explained.

"Did Dad say he was there? Did he say where he was? Why do we have to go there?" Sam asked, irritated at his father's mysterious messages.

"All he said was that we had to go to Buxton, Sam," Dean stood and began gathering his things.

"We just got here," Sam said, not moving from his bed, "And you've been driving all day."

Dean almost glared at him, "It sounded urgent. We can't just sit around if Dad has a job for us to do."

Sam sighed and stood, "Did he at least say what was there?"

Dean gave a wry grin, "Nope."

SPN

Dean had insisted on driving. No one was going to drive his baby while he was able. Not even Sam.

The kid was sawing logs in the seat next to his anyway.

Dean knew he should probably be in Sam's place, getting some shut-eye while he could but it wasn't too far to Buxton and he'd pulled all-nighters before.

Reaching out, Dean turned the volume on the radio up just a little more.

'Nights In White Satin' filled the Impala's interior as it careened towards its destination.

SPN

Sam woke with a start, a vision of orange flames seemingly etched into his eyelids.

Leaning forward, Sam forced his gummy eyes open and cleared his throat, frowning when he realized that it was sore.

"We're twenty minutes away," Dean said nonchalantly, ignoring his brother's rude awakening.

Sam cleared his throat, "Uh… okay."

"Have some water," Dean said and grabbed the water bottle sitting beside him, "You sound like you've smoked a pack since you were ten."

Sam took the bottle and drank half its contents, his throat aching fiercely in protest of the lukewarm liquid.

W

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of the local motel- the only motel- in Buxton and Dean got out, heading towards the Office to get them a room.

Sam rubbed his throat, grimacing in pain.

He just had to take some more ASA and he'd be fine. Maybe he'd be able to get some cough syrup tomorrow for his throat.

Sam startled when Dean pulled the car door open and sat down.

"Scare you?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"No," Sam replied instantly.

"Yes I did," Dean continued, "You've gotten soft, College Boy."

Sam didn't answer, his throat hurt too much.

W

Sam tried not to look too relieved when Dean said that they should both get some sleep and start investigating the next morning.

The youngest Winchester crawled into bed gratefully and drew the blankets up to his chin, sighing quietly.

"Jeez, Sam, it's not like you were the one driving all day," Dean muttered from his own bed.

SPN

It was early when Dean was awoken. The sun had not even begun to rise yet and the room was awash in pre-dawn grey.

The eldest Winchester sat up, blinking, wondering what had woken him.

Then he heard it: a dry, hacking cough coming from somewhere across the room.

Instantly on alert, Dean looked over to his brother's bed and saw that it was empty.

Getting up, Dean saw that the bathroom door was closed. He approached it and knocked lightly.

"Sam? You okay in there?"

"D'n," Sam rasped, "G'way."

"Are you okay?" Dean repeated.

A cough was his only answer.

Taking hold of the doorknob, Dean let himself into the bathroom.

Sam was standing at the sink, head bent as he struggled to breathe.

Dean noticed that Sam's hair was sticking to his head with sweat and that his hands trembled as they gripped the edges of the counter.

"Shit, Sam," Dean said and approached his sibling, "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

The younger man looked up, eyes glazed and red-rimmed.

"M'fine."

Dean reached out and put a palm against his brother's brow, feeling the unhealthy heat radiating off the skin.

"Uh, no you're not," Dean replied and grabbed a washcloth off the shelf across from the toilet.

"How long have you been sick?" he asked as he ran cold water from the tap over the cloth.

"J-Just yester-" Sam's answer was cut off by another bout of dry, hacking coughs.

Dean squeezed the washcloth out and held it against Sam's forehead for a moment. The younger man cringed but then sighed, eyes closing in pleasure at the cool water against his feverish brow.

"Let's get you back to bed," Dean said and gently took his brother's arm.

Sam didn't protest and followed his brother.

"Man, Sam, when you get sick you really get sick," Dean commented, lifting the blanket of Sam's bed so his brother could slip underneath.

"Hmm," Sam muttered, "I do."

Dean smirked, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Sam's expression turned serious, "You n-needed to find D-Dad. Not look after me."

"I don't think Dad's stuck around this time either," Dean said as he pulled the blanket up to Sam's chin, "So it looks like I have my old job back."

Dean knew that Sam would be feeling shitty for a few days than be back to his usual self. He would hold off on the case until he was certain Sam was well enough to get back in the game.

Sam closed his eyes, the white washcloth obscuring his forehead. He looked like he was a little kid again.

Dean smiled despite the fact that his brother wasn't well. He'd been so off lately, so sad since Jessica's death that having something as simple as his big brother look after him, could make him happy- if only for a little while.

Dean patted Sam's chest beneath the blanket. He might not be able to find their father but there was something he could do. Something he had done since he was four years old.

Take care of his baby brother.


	3. Chimera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from CaringAndCompassion: Sam becomes permanently injured on a hunt and Dean takes care of him.

Dean swore under his breath as he dodged the Chimera's lion head, its jaws snapping shut just inches from his face.

The Winchesters had taken the job after hearing that the monster was terrorizing the residents of a small town called Lycia, in Washington State.

Sam was at the Chimera's back end, ducking and weaving to avoid its tail. The appendage ended in the head of snake.

The head in the middle- a goat's- rose from the back of the Chimera and bleated angrily as the creature failed once again to strike either Winchester.

We can't keep this up much longer, Dean thought and wiped sweat from his brow.

He knew that he was tiring and he was sure Sam felt the same.

But they couldn't give up. To do so would mean getting killed by this fugly or allowing it to continue munching on the citizens of Lycia, Washington.

After hours of research the brothers had found the correct way to destroy the beast. Contrary to popular mythology, all three heads had to be decapitated for the Chimera to die. If one or two remained, the Winchesters would have a seriously pissed monster on their hands.

Dean raised his machete and heaved it downwards at the same moment the lion's head lunged at him.

The blade sliced through with little resistance, blood gushing from the stump of the neck as the head rolled a few feet away from the body.

The goat's head bleated and the snake's head hissed.

Dean grinned toothily.

One down, two to go.

Even as blood continued to weep from the wound, the Chimera rushed forwards, goat's head baring sharp teeth.

Dean easily sidestepped the clumsy beat. Without its main head, the Chimera became awkward and somewhat uncoordinated.

"Dean!" Sam called out from the monster's other side and the older brother saw his younger sibling stumble over a piece of debris and go down hard.

"Sammy!" Dean cried as he saw the snake's head dart down towards his brother.

"Ahhh!" Dean's blood ran cold at the sound of the pained cry and he barreled forwards, ignoring the goat head and swung his machete down at the snake, its jaws clamped tightly against Sam's leg.

The Chimera stumbled away from the Winchesters, the goat's eyes rolling in their sockets as crimson liquid spurted from its severed tail.

Dean grabbed the snake's head and yanked it from Sam's leg, the young man crying out in pain.

Dean held the head up and was about to toss it aside when Sam stopped him, one hand held out.

"N-No," he stammered, "We n-need it."

Dean's eyebrows knitted in concern.

"A-Anti-venom," Sam ground out and Dean dropped the head beside his brother.

He still had one more head to deal with.

SPN

Sam clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure he would end up cracking some teeth. Not that he cared in the least.

The pain in his leg was unbelievable.

The limb throbbed angrily with each beat of his heart and Sam knew that it was the poison spreading.

His vision blurred so that he could barely see as Dean hacked the last of the Chimera's heads from its body.

Sam gripped his leg at the knee with trembling hands, trying to stay calm despite the fact that his heart wanted to beat frantically with panic.

"…Sam? Sammy?"

Sam looked up and saw Dean crouched in front of him.

How long had his brother been there? From the look on his Dean's face, it had been a while.

"Don't you pass out on me," Dean said, "I can't carry you back to the car, you know."

"C'mon," Dean continued, straightening to his full height, "Can you stand?"

Sam didn't know. He didn't want to move though. Just the thought of trying to make his way out to the Impala seemed to increase the pain in his leg fivefold.

"-AM!"

Sam tilted his head back and stared up at Dean. His brother looked terrified.

"You've got to get up," Dean said and bent down, grabbing Sam beneath the armpits.

"Nuh-No!" Sam gasped as Dean forced him up.

"I know it hurts but you've got to stand," Dean told him.

Sam clutched at Dean, fingers digging into his brother's arms.

"Let me help you," Dean said and grabbed Sam's right wrist and draped his arm across his shoulders.

"Can you lift your leg?"

Sam lowered his head; his breathing fast-paced and eyes squeezed shut.

"Lift your leg!"

Slowly, Sam did as he was asked and tears welled up in his eyes.

"I- I- can't," he whimpered pitifully.

"You're doing it, Sammy," Dean informed him gently.

"Okay, we're going to start walking. Try to keep your leg up as much as possible."

SPN

Dean bit his lip and took a step forward. Sam responded by moving as he did, whimpering in pain.

"D'n," Sam moaned.

"Don't talk," Dean replied, focusing solely on getting his brother out of the warehouse and into the Impala.

"The… head," Sam continued.

"I'm getting you to the car first," Dean said, "Then I'll grab the stuff."

W

Nearly ten agonizing minutes passed before Dean had the passenger door open and he was helping Sam sit down.

The younger man hissed in pain, hands automatically going to his leg.

"I'll be right back," Dean said anxiously, "Don't you dare pass out on me."

Dean was on autopilot as he ran into the warehouse and gathered the machetes and snake's head. He didn't have time to destroy the Chimera's body; he needed to get Sam to the hospital.

W

Dean dumped everything in the backseat of the Chevy before climbing into the driver's seat and peeling out of the warehouse's parking lot.

Sam, despite Dean's warning, appeared to be barely conscious.

When Dean called his sibling's name, Sam's head rolled in his direction, limp as though his neck couldn't hold the weight.

The eldest Winchester pressed his foot down on the accelerator. He didn't give a shit that he was speeding. Dean had a feeling Sam didn't have long.

W

The Impala ground to a halt in front of the Emergency entrance, tires bumping up onto the curb.

Dean reached into the backseat and grabbed the snake's head before getting out and jogging around the front of the vehicle to the passenger side.

Stuffing the vile prize into the pocket of his leather jacket, Dean opened the door and froze.

Sam was clearly unconscious. There would be no way for Dean to get him into the hospital by himself.

"Fuck," Dean swore and ran into the hospital.

"Hey! I need help!" he called out to a nurse sitting at the front desk, "My brother's unconscious!"

The woman nodded and quickly paged for backup. Dean didn't wait, he returned to the Impala.

Moments later, another nurse and two orderlies pushing a stretcher came through the sliding glass doors.

"What's happened?" the nurse asked as the orderlies carefully placed Sam on the stretcher.

"He was bitten by a snake about twenty-five minutes ago," Dean answered, hurrying alongside the stretcher as the small group headed back inside.

"Do you know what type?" the nurse asked, taking her stethoscope from around her neck and placing it against Sam's chest.

"No, but I have the head," Dean told her and pulled the Chimera's tail from his pocket.

The nurse looked at Dean for a moment before nodding.

One of the orderlies took the snake's head from Dean and seconds later Sam had disappeared beyond a set of swinging doors.

W

Dean collapsed into a hard plastic waiting room chair. There was nothing more he could do for his brother. All he could do was wait and pray that the doctors weren't too late to save him.

W

Dean filled out the appropriate paperwork, drank some coffee from the machine on the far side of the waiting room and flipped through every magazine sitting out- even the ones for women- while he waited for news on Sam.

After a few hours he called Bobby, told him the good news- they'd killed the Chimera- and the bad news- Sam had been bitten- and assured the older man that he would call as soon as he knew if his brother was alright or not.

W

Dawn was casting its golden rays through the glass windows of the waiting room when a bald male doctor stepped out of the swinging doors and announced, "Family of Samuel Winchester?"

Dean stood instantly, his heart jackhammering and his mouth suddenly as dry as sawdust. He had been without news all night and now out comes a doctor, looking less than happy to be calling on him.

"I'm Dean," he told the man, "Sam's brother."

The doctor nodded, "I'm Dr. Browne."

"Is Sam-" Dean asked and the doctor gave him a small smile.

"Your brother made it," he told Dean.

The eldest Winchester felt his eyes burn suddenly and his knees threatened to give out with relief.

"There were complications though," Dr. Browne continued.

Dean's heart squeezed in his chest, "What kind of complications?"

"We couldn't make the anti-venom soon enough," the doctor explained, "And the poison had already spread through your brother's body."

What was wrong? Dean wondered numbly. Was Sam in a coma? Could he breathe on his own? Was his heart damaged? Would he recognize Dean when he saw him?

"I'm afraid we had to amputate your brother's leg," Dr. Browne said.

Dean didn't say anything for a moment.

"You… what?" he asked in disbelief.

"We had to remove your brother's leg," the doctor repeated, speaking slower, "Once we did that, the venom wasn't able to spread as fast and when we were able to administer the antidote it saved his life."

"You chopped off my brother's leg?"

The doctor gave Dean a sympathetic look, "It was the only way to prevent the poison from spreading."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded, "We have him sedated to keep him as comfortable as possible but I don't see why not."

Dean followed Dr. Browne through the swinging doors, his heart both heavy and light at the same time.

SPN

Sam's entire body ached and he didn't know why.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was and he wanted to call for Dean but he couldn't gather the strength to speak.

It seemed easier just to close his eyes and sleep for a while. If he did he might find out where he was and remember why he was so sore. Dean might come when he woke up.

Sighing, Sam allowed his eyes to slip close and he slept.

SPN

Dean's heart leaped in his chest at the sight of his brother. Sam was almost as pale as the hospital blanket covering him. There was an IV pole standing beside the bed, two different bags feeding into thin tubes attached to the back of his right hand. A heart monitor beeped incessantly off to one side.

Glancing down, Dean saw Sam's left leg filling out the crisp blanket while his right leg ended abruptly.

"We had to amputate the limb mid-thigh," Dr. Browne told Dean, as if he knew exactly what the young man was looking at.

"I know this is shocking," he continued, "But your brother will make a full recovery."

Dean didn't say anything. Instead, he moved forward and pulled the visitor's chair close to the bed. He sat down and took hold of Sam's left hand, squeezing gently.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly and smiled when he saw Dean's face.

"Hey," he said, his voice raspy.

Dean smiled but something was off about the expression.

"Hey yourself," Dean said quietly, "I thought you were going to sleep all morning."

"Am I in the hospital?" Sam asked, his eyes traveled beyond his brother's face and he caught sight of the familiar fiberglass ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights common in every hospital.

"Yeah," Dean answered, "Do you remember what happened?"

Sam's brow furrowed as he struggled to recall the memory.

"Oh… ah! The Chimera! Did you-" Sam began but Dean interrupted, "It's dead."

Sam relaxed, "Good."

There was a beat of silence, then…

"Did I get hurt bad?"

Sam watched as Dean's eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded, "Yeah, you did, Sammy."

"What… what happened?" Sam asked.

He couldn't have been that badly injured. His body wasn't as sore as it was before and other than that he felt no real pain.

"Do you remember the snake biting you?" Dean asked, gripping Sam's hand tightly.

Sam nodded. He remembered it now. It had hurt like a son of a bitch.

"But the anti-venom was made," he said, confused. Clearly, if the antidote hadn't been created in time he would be lying on a slab in the morgue rather than a hospital bed.

"It was," Dean agreed, obviously hedging.

"Then what?" Sam asked, his brother's hesitation only causing him to begin panicking.

"The doctor had to cut off your leg," Dean told him, stony-faced.

Sam blinked and stared at his older brother.

"Y-you're not joking," he stammered.

"Why would I joke about that?" Dean asked, insulted.

Sam's heart seemed to stop beating for a moment before it began to race.

"Let me up!" he demanded, flailing as he struggled to sit, "Let me see!"

"Sam! Calm down a moment!" Dean ordered but Sam ignored him.

He grabbed Dean's shirtfront and pulled himself up, gaping at his legs.

"Sam?" Dean said.

"Sam, say something," Dean continued.

"You're freaking me out," Dean told him.

Sam's eyes didn't leave their focus even as a nurse entered the room, took out a syringe and added a sedative to the IV.

"Sam," Dean cajoled, "C'mon man, lie down."

The younger man didn't fight as Dean eased him back against the bed's hard mattress, his eyes closing before he could stop them.

SPN

Dean raked a hand through his short-cropped hair as he stared at the pamphlets and brochures on amputation and prosthesis Dr. Browne had given him.

He couldn't deal with this right now.

Maybe he'd be able to get a handle on everything once Bobby arrived.

Standing up, Dean shuffled the papers into a pile and glanced at his sleeping brother.

He hoped that when he woke up again, some of the shock would have worn off. He needed Sam to have a clear head for what was ahead.

SPN

Sam stared at what was left of his right leg, wrapped tightly in clean, white gauze, and hated it.

He didn't even react to Bobby or Dean, though they were in the room.

The doctor had insisted that Sam get up, even if it was only to sit in the wheelchair the hospital provided.

Sam didn't like looking at the leg but he couldn't seem to look away.

Dean had suggested covering his lap with a blanket but Sam had refused.

"Sam, you wanna go somewhere? They have a garden in the back," Dean suggested but the young man ignored him.

"Son," Bobby said, "Say something."

Sam didn't speak for a long time.

"It feels like its still there."

"That's phantom limb syndrome," Dean replied, "The pamphlet said it should go away."

Sam reached down to where the rest of his leg should be- to where his calf should have been- and frowned when his fingers touched only the footrest of the chair and not warm, living flesh.

SPN

"Something ain't right with that boy," Bobby said as he and Dean watched Sam.

Dean nodded then looked away.

"What the hell happened, Bobby?"

The change in Sam had happened in the blink of an eye, it seemed. Dean didn't know what to do. Sam wasn't himself at all and it was scaring his older brother.

The veteran hunter shook his head, "The shock of losing a limb? I don't know. The mind is a fragile thing, Dean. Sometimes people just snap for no reason."

Dean scowled, "Sam didn't snap, Bobby. He's going to get through this. It'll just take time."

Bobby nodded but didn't say anything.

"When's he getting released?" he asked instead.

"Day after tomorrow," Dean answered.

"Well, y'all come down to my place when you get the chance," Bobby told Dean and the younger man nodded, "We will. I want to spend some time alone with Sammy first. See if I can't get him out of this mood he's in."

SPN

"You can still hunt, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, "We can get you a prosthetic leg and you'll be good as new."

"Prosthetics cost thousands of dollars, Dean," Sam said listlessly, "I know I don't have that kind of money and I'm sure you don't either."

Dean frowned, "Then we'll think of something. Steal one, maybe."

Sam didn't smile at the joke. He sighed and turned the wheelchair around so that it wasn't facing Dean anymore.

W

Dean opened the motel room door and Sam rolled into the room. They had 'borrowed' a wheelchair from the hospital for Sam but Dean didn't feel too bad; they had hundreds of those things kicking around and his brother needed one.

"What do you want for dinner? Anything you want. My treat," Dean announced.

"I'm not hungry," Sam replied and reached down absentmindedly to scratch at the leg that was no longer there.

"You have to eat," Dean insisted.

Sam said nothing, his gaze turned distant, shutting his brother out.

"Fine," Dean growled, "I'll pick. And you're going to eat it."

Dean slammed the motel room door as he left; frustrated with his brother's behavior and at a lost as to how to change it.

W

Maybe he has snapped, Dean thought as he watched Sam stare at his food.

His normally chatty, clingy brother was now distant and antisocial.

Dean had never seen a more dramatic change in personality. He didn't like it one bit. This brother was a shadow of the Sam he knew.

He needed the only Sammy back.

W

"Dean!"

"Dean!"

"DEAN!"

Dean woke with a start and instantly glanced at his brother.

Sam seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the bed next to his.

Sighing, Dean was preparing to go back to sleep when something stopped him. Instead he got up and crossed to his brother's bed. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, Dean reached out and gently brushed Sam's bangs away from his brow.

"Hmm," Sam muttered, eyes squeezing tightly.

Lowering his hand, Dean spoke quietly to his brother.

"You can talk to me, you know," he said, "Just like you used to when we were kids."

Dean thought back to when he'd had to wear a cast on his arm for six weeks when he'd broken it during a training session with Sam. John had refused to let him go on hunts with them and he'd had to stay in the Impala, normally Sam's job. Dean remembered feeling weak and useless, wishing he could do something to help his father and brother.

That was what Sam was probably feeling right now, Dean realized; useless and powerless.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He never wanted Sam to feel like that.

As Dean watched Sam sleep, an idea came to mind.

He smiled, and stood, hoping that it would work.

Dean lay back down in his bed and closed his eyes. He could hardly wait for morning to arrive.

SPN

Sam peeled his eyes open tiredly as Asia blared from the radio on the nightstand.

Dean was already dressed for the day, typing his shoes up and bobbing his head along to the music.

"Wakey-wakey Eggs n' Backey!" Dean announced loudly.

Sam groaned and closed his eyes again.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean pressed, "Up and at 'em!"

Sam grumbled when he felt his brother pull the blankets away from his bed.

"DEAN!" he snapped and pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Hurry up Sam and get dressed," Dean said, smiling, "We're going on a field trip this morning."

"I'm not," Sam grumbled.

Why didn't Dean just piss off?

"Yeah, you are," Dean argued, "Now put some clothes on before I come over there and dress you myself."

Sam glared at his brother but Dean didn't back down. Sighing, Sam got into the wheelchair and rolled over to his duffel bag. Placing it on his lap, he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

SPN

Dean tried not to be too disappointed when Sam didn't even ask where they were going.

He'd climbed into the Impala without saying a word, a sad and slightly irritated look on his face.

Dean grinned as he pulled into the parking lot of the shooting range and killed the engine.

"What are we doing here?" Sam finally spoke up.

"I thought you'd never ask," Dean smirked. He got out of the car, grabbed the wheelchair from the backseat and brought it around to the passenger's side.

"Dean? Why are we here?" Sam repeated as he sat down.

Normally Dean would let Sam wheel himself but today he kept hold of the handles at the back and pushed his brother forward.

"We're here to shoot guns," Dean told him.

Sam peered over his shoulder at his brother, frowning.

SPN

The gun felt comfortingly familiar in Sam's hand. The weight of it, the coolness of it, even the smell of gunpowder and oil was pleasant.

Sam could just peer over the top of the short wall when he was sitting in his wheelchair.

Dean went first, expertly squeezing off a half-dozen rounds, peppering the paper silhouette's head and chest.

He grinned and slipped the goggles he was wearing, up to just above his forehead.

"Okay Sammy," he said, "Your turn."

Sam peered at Dean skeptically.

"Go on," Dean encouraged.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

Turning towards his own silhouette, Sam squeezed the trigger once.

The shot went wild and hit the cinderblock wall instead of the target.

"This is stupid," Sam said, "I can't do it. I'm not any good anymore."

"Try again," Dean urged.

Sam knew that Dean wouldn't let him leave until he'd done what he wanted so he squeezed the trigger again.

The bullet passed straight through the target's head.

"Whoohoo!" Dean cheered, earning him looks from the two other people using the range.

"Again," he told Sam and the younger man obliged.

The bullets hit the target's head again, all in quick succession.

Sam set the gun down on the short wall and turned his wheelchair around to face Dean.

His brother crouched down and gripped the chair's armrests.

"You are not useless, Sammy," he said sternly, "You can still shoot, you can still protect people."

Sam felt his eyes well up with tears. How did Dean know him so well?

"Once we get you that bionic leg you'll be unstoppable," Dean continued with a wry grin.

Sam chuckled softly.

"I'm scared, Dean," he admitted.

His brother nodded, "I'm scared too but that's okay. We'll get through this together, just like we do with everything. We're hunters, no, we're Winchesters and we never give up."

Sam nodded, "Thanks, Dean."

His older brother smiled, "Don't mention it."


	4. For Love Of Money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Shahenaaz08: Pre-series, AU. Sam is 12 and Dean is 16. John leaves the boys alone and Dean doesn't want to babysit Sam so he goes out with his friends and the younger Winchester gets hurt.

Their father had been gone for three days when Dean decided he'd had enough.

He couldn't take it anymore.

He just needed to get out of the room for a few hours.

Besides, Sam wouldn't even know he was gone.

SPN

Sam had been diagnosed with Autism shortly after his first birthday. He had not started walking when he should have been and he had yet to even say simple words such as 'Dada'. Although he was able to sit up, Sam refused to move unless John or Dean carried him to where they wanted him. Sam hardly ever reacted to his name and he refused to play games such as 'peek-a-boo'.

Not completely sure what to do- Mary would have known- John waited to see if Sam would start to act like a normal toddler.

Maybe he was just a late bloomer, John had told himself, but deep down, he was terrified that something was seriously wrong with his youngest son.

When Sam failed to develop the skills displayed by other toddlers his age, John took his son to the hospital. After a series of tests, the results came back positive.

SPN

Dean loved his brother; there was no question about that. But sometimes, he needed a break, some time to himself.

Since he had been four years old he had taken it upon himself to be his brother's caretaker but some days were better than others and Dean needed some space now and then.

W

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. He glanced at the sunburst clock on the wall above the beds and smiled. It was almost time.

Sam had 'zoned-out' a half-hour ago, as he usually did after dinner and would remain in his own world for hours. He sat silently on the edge of his bed, one hand raised in the air, waving.

Dean grimaced slightly. Sam's quirks seemed to have him deemed as a 'freak' or 'weirdo' by kids wherever they went.

Sam, although he did go to school, because of his autism he was placed in classes for 'special needs' students wherever they went which was more like glorified babysitting. Dean hated the fact that it had to be like that but he knew that Sam couldn't be left alone in the motel room and there was no one around to look after him. Dean was waiting impatiently for the day when he could quit school without anyone making a big deal out of it so he could take care of his little brother, but at only sixteen, Dean was still too young to drop out legally.

Sam didn't like to be away from Dean. Even though he barely seemed to notice he was there most of the time, the twelve-year-old knew when Dean wasn't nearby.

Dean couldn't imagine how Sam managed to get through the school day without him. He would walk Sam to his class, help him with his backpack and coat before heading over to the high school a couple of blocks away. He was always late for Homeroom but after explaining about Sam, his teacher- an older woman nearing her retirement- looked the other way.

Sometimes Dean would pick up Sam and the teacher would tell him his brother had spent an hour tantruming before finally calming down- a good day- or he would get a call in the middle of class telling him he had to come and get his brother because he was hitting his head against a desk or the wall or the floor.

W

Sam never spoke. He couldn't even say Dean's name. But his older brother somehow knew exactly what he wanted even when their father was at a loss as to how to decipher Sam's silent demands.

He didn't like the dark and would only sleep if every light in the motel room was kept on.

He didn't like to be touched.

He only ate orange foods. Carrots and Cheddar cheese were his favourites.

He enjoyed Metallica but hated every other band.

He only wore shirts if they were green.

He never went anywhere without his stuffed Teddy Bear whom Dean had named 'Bill'.

He only sat in the back of the Impala. He never took the front seat.

W

Sam didn't move from his spot at the end of the bed, even as Dean turned on the television.

He sat as still as a statue except for his one waving hand, the other clutching one of Bill's arms.

The sound of a car motor approaching elicited no reaction from the youngest Winchester but his brother jumped up. Dean parted the curtains covering the window and grinned at the sight of his friend, Jeremy, behind the wheel of his car.

Grabbing his jacket, Dean said a quick, automatic goodbye to his brother.

"See ya, Sammy! I'll be back soon. Don't have any crazy parties while I'm gone!"

Dean loped across the sidewalk and opened the passenger door.

"Hey," Jeremy said and pulled out the parking lot, "You ready?"

"Hell yeah!" Dean exclaimed happily.

SPN

Arthur Bradley and Ramon Bello pulled into the parking lot of the 'Lone Wolf' motel.

Although it wasn't the nicest place in town, it was always fairly busy.

There was certain to be some folks with cash staying at the place.

Bradley- driving a discreet blue panel van- parked so that he and Bello had a view of the rooms at the back of the motel and waited for night to fall.

They watched as a punk kid pulled up in an old T-Bird his father had probably bought for him and another teen from room 9 joined him, climbing into the passenger seat before speeding off.

Soon the outside lights came on and illuminated the parking lot as the shadows grew longer and the sun went down.

Bradley decided that it was dark enough and grabbed his tools: a coat hanger, a black plastic garbage bag and a gun. He pulled a balaclava over his head and exited the vehicle. Bello followed, also carrying a gun and wearing a balaclava.

The two men made their way swiftly to the first motel room and Bradley jimmied the lock with the coat hanger, letting themselves inside.

SPN

Dean couldn't believe he and Jeremy had been able to sneak into a R-rated movie.

He hadn't even been asked to show ID! He guessed he looked much older than his sixteen years.

He wished they could stay in town for longer but John was due to return from his hunting trip in a day or two.

Dean glanced down at his watch, checking the time and decided he had enough time to finish the movie before he had to go back to the motel.

He'd have to get Sam ready for bed in a couple of hours.

Dean's thoughts drifted away from his brother's nighttime routines and back to the movie.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

SPN

Bradley and Bello had scabbed some great loot: Money, credit cards, and jewelry.

Their greed pressed them onwards and Bradley picked the lock of room 9 with ease. He swung the door open wide and Bello rushed into the motel room.

"Whoa!" Ramon cried, startled by finding a kid in the room.

"What?" Arthur asked and then saw what his friend was looking at.

"The hell?" Bello asked, stepping forward.

The boy didn't react to their presence. He was sitting on the end of one of the beds, one hand clutching a stuffed bear toy, the other flapping in a comical waving motion.

The two robbers stared at the child for a long moment before Bradley moved.

"He ain't gonna do anything," he grumbled and shoved Bello forward, "Let's go."

Ramon gave the child one last look before he grabbed one of the duffel bags sitting on the floor, yanked the zipper open and dumped its contents onto the carpet.

Clothes and toiletries fell out. Bello bent down and pawed through them, searching for anything valuable.

Bradley tugged the drawers out of the dresser the television sat on and tossed aside anything he couldn't steal.

"There's no money here!" Bello announced, stepping on top of the clothes he's strewn about as he reached for the second duffel bag.

"Keep looking," Bradley hissed. He turned around and stared at the kid for a moment.

Stepping up to the boy, Arthur reached out and grabbed the front of his lime-green t-shirt.

The reaction was both instantaneous and alarming. The kid's hand stopped waving, his eyes went wide and he let out an ear-piercing shriek.

"What the fuck did you do?!" Bello called, crossing the room to his friend.

Bradley released the boy as though he'd burnt his hand but the screaming didn't stop.

"Shut the damn brat up!" Ramon begged.

If someone heard the racket they'd call the cops and then they'd be in for it.

Bradley raised his hand holding the gun and swung it at the child's head. The weapon connected with the side of the boy's skull and he fell of the bed, landing heavily on the carpeted floor.

Both men were panting from the adrenaline rush. They stared at one another for a moment before Arthur swore.

"Fuckin' kid must be one of those retards."

"We should go," Bello said.

Bradley nodded, "There ain't anything good here anyways."

The two men quickly crossed the room, only pausing to close the door before they hurried across the parking lot with their stolen goods and climbed into their van.

SPN

"Hey, Carla's just invited us to a party at her house if you want to go," Jeremy told Dean, lowering his cell phone as he ended the call.

Dean smiled. Carla was so hot and he'd love to go to her house but he couldn't. At least not tonight.

"Nah, I gotta get back and look after Sam."

Jeremy shrugged, "Whatever, man."

"Hey, I'll give you a lift back to your motel," the boy said and Dean nodded, grateful for the gesture.

As they approached the 'Lone Wolf' motel, blue and red lights flashed in the distance.

"Huh, wonder what happened," Jeremy said, "Maybe someone wrapped their car around a telephone post."

Dean didn't say anything. He suddenly had a bad feeling, his stomaching going cold at the sight of the police lights.

W

Cruisers were blocking the entrance to the motel parking lot so Jeremy pulled up to the boulevard.

Dean clambered from the car without giving his friend a backwards glance.

Policemen stood in front of one of the motel rooms, its open door displaying the catastrophe inside.

"Hey! Kid!" a cop called and Dean skidded to a halt.

"I'm staying in room nine," he explained.

"A number of these rooms were broken into earlier tonight," the cop continued, "I can't allow you inside until we are sure you're wasn't hit. There might be evidence."

"No," Dean said, startling the officer, "My younger brother is in our room and I need to make sure he's okay."

"Alright son," the policeman said and followed Dean to room 9.

The door swung open at Dean's touch and he gaped in horror at the mess revealed. Clothes were scattered all over the floor and Sam was nowhere in sight.

"Sammy!" Dean cried and stepped into the room, heart pounding in fear.

What if whoever had broken in had taken Sam with them?

Dean tried not to think of all the horrible scenarios involving Sam and his potential kidnappers when he caught sight of a small limp hand poking out from between the two beds.

"Sam!" Dean called, feeling relief rush and terror rush through him at the same time.

Stepping over their clothes, Dean crouched down beside his brother.

Sam was unconscious, blood coating the side of his face from a gash that started at his temple and stopped just behind his ear. His face was also bruised from the impact of whatever he'd been hit with.

"Sammy?" Dean reached out and pressed his fingers to his sibling's neck.

He heard the police officer talking on his radio, calling in paramedics.

Sam's heart thudded beneath Dean's hand and the older brother sighed in relief. Bending down, he picked his sibling up, cradling him against his chest.

Dean followed the policeman outside and into the parking lot. Other cops stared at him, surprised that there had actually been someone inside one of the rooms.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured quietly, "I've got ya."

The teenager only took his attention away from his brother when the police officer approached him with a paramedic.

The woman smiled and Dean followed her to the ambulance.

"What's his name?" she asked and Dean told her.

Dean handed his sibling to the paramedic and watched as she assessed his injuries.

"He'll need stitches," she told Dean, "Are you coming along to the hospital?"

Dean nodded and climbed into the back of the ambulance.

W

Once Sam was resting comfortably in a hospital bed, Dean collapsed into the chair provided for visitors.

He felt like shit.

If he hadn't gone to see that movie with Jeremy he would have been able to protect his brother.

Sam still hadn't woken up but the doctor wasn't overly concerned. Sam ended up with twenty-five stitches and a concussion but it wasn't that bad. It could have been a hell of a lot worse.

There was a knock on the door and Dean looked up to see the police officer from earlier standing there.

"We need the contact information for your parents," the cop said.

"It's just my Dad," Dean answered, "And he's out of town right now."

The cop nodded but didn't leave, "We'll have to get him to examine the motel room and let us know if anything was taken."

Dean sighed, "Right now?"

"As soon as possible," the cop said before peering suspiciously at Dean, "How old are you?"

"Old enough," he replied.

"When your brother wakes up we want to talk to him," the cop continued, "He might have seen his attackers."

Dean snorted.

"Something funny?" the policeman asked.

"You can talk to Sam all you like but he's not going to answer you."

The cop frowned, "Just what-"

Dean interrupted before the man could become even angrier, "He has autism. He's also non-verbal. Hasn't spoken a word. Ever."

The cop looked as though he wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Oh, uh… I'm still going to need to get in contact with your father."

Dean nodded, grabbed a magazine off the bedside table and scrawled John's cell phone number onto the corner, tearing the paper in order to give it to the cop.

"He might not answer the first time so keep trying if he doesn't," Dean informed the cop, "He'll pick up eventually."

The officer nodded and left without another word.

Dean turned and looked at his brother.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of the white gauze covering the side of his brother's head.

"I should have known better," he continued sadly, "Next time I'm taking you to the movies with me."

W

Sam stared blankly ahead from his seat in the back of the Impala, one hand gripping Bill's leg and the other waving repeatedly.

Dean smiled slightly at the sight. Sam didn't even notice the stitches or the bruising along the side of his face.

John's hands tightened momentarily on the steering wheel before loosening.

He was just glad that his son was alright; both his sons, actually. He knew that if anything happened to Sam, Dean wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He had reamed Dean out the night before, after seeing their motel room- where nothing was taken, thankfully- and then Sam lying unconscious in the hospital bed.

John knew however, that Dean felt awful about what had happened without him having to say anything.

"I'm proud of you, son," John said without taking his eyes off the road.

Dean's eyebrows knitted in confusion, "For what? I fucked up?"

John almost smiled, "Yeah you did. But you've always been there for Sam otherwise, when I can't be. I know it must be hard for you to take care of him, putting your own life in second place for him."

Dean nodded. Usually looking after Sam was a thankless job; he wasn't even completely sure now if John knew just how difficult it was watching out for Sammy.

"But if I ever hear that you left him alone like that again," John said, his tone serious, "I'll kick your ass, you hear me?"

"Yes sir," Dean replied but smiled anyways.

Sam- who had ignored the entire conversation- continued to wave from the backseat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not an expert on Autism. I have read a number of novels- and fanfictions- featuring characters with autism. I have even worked with children who were on the Autism spectrum or were diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. I read up on the signs and characteristics of autism online and I apologize if I have made any glaring errors.


	5. Life's Nutty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from awsome: Sam nearly gets killed while at Stanford but Dean happens to be checking in on him and saves the day.

Sam may have been smart enough to get a full-ride into a pretty prestigious college but he was stupid when it came to his health.

He always seemed to forget to bring his EpiPen with him.

Ever since he was a kid, Sam never remembered the thing and it was lucky he had Dean because he never forgot it.

But now Sam was away at school and Dean wasn't around the make sure the EpiPen was within easy reach.

Jessica knew about Sam's allergy though and made sure to take the proper precautions.

W

"C'mon Jess," Sam called from the doorway of their apartment, "Brady's waiting."

"Okay, okay," Jessica sighed, taking one last look in the bathroom mirror. She'd only put a little bit of makeup on; it wasn't like they were going on a date or anything but she still didn't want to seem as though she had just rolled out of bed.

Satisfied with her appearance, Jessica grabbed her purse and met Sam at the door.

"I'm sure Brady won't melt if we're a few minutes behind," she said, rolling her eyes as she pulled the door closed.

Sam smirked, "He won't but I bet you twenty bucks he'll complain about it all evening."

Jessica laughed and looped her arm through Sam's, moving closer to him as they walked down the hallway.

W

"You two took your time," Brady sniped when he saw Sam and Jess.

The couple burst out laughing as soon as he spoke, earning a confused look from their friend.

Jessica glanced at her wristwatch; "We're only three minutes late."

"Whatever, c'mon," he said, "We'll miss the movie."

SPN

Dean smiled as he watched Sam talk with his friends. He was glad his brother was really starting to come out of his shell and begin having relationships with people. Dean had been concerned that Sam would have trouble doing so; not only because of his sibling's own natural shyness but because of years spent not getting attached to anyone other than immediate family.

Although he had never met her, Dean liked Jessica Moore. She was obviously a very kind and caring individual, bubbly and outgoing; the perfect compliment to Sam's laid-back, passive personality.

Dean didn't consider what he was doing as spying. Sam was his baby brother and it was his responsibility to look out for him, even from afar.

It wasn't as though Dean was obsessive about Sam or anything. He'd make a point of coming down to Palo Alto every couple of months or so just to check up on Sam, see if he was happy.

He watched Sam and his friends enter the movie theatre and made his way to the bar across the street to wait until they came back out again.

Dean prided himself on the fact that Sam had yet to discover his 'check-ins'. Dean never got too close; he usually watched from across the street or a few meters or so behind, always blending into the crowd.

Dean smirked; he was kind of like a ninja in that sense.

He pushed his way through the throng of college kids and made his way to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools.

The bartender- a curvy (and busty) brunette with startling blue eyes- smiled at Dean.

"What'll you have?" she asked in a husky, though not unpleasant voice.

"Just a beer," Dean answered.

The bartender nodded and handed him the beverage.

"You're not from the college," she stated.

Dean smiled, "Do I stick out that badly?"

The bartender winked, "Take a look around and you tell me."

Dean grinned, "I'm actually visiting someone."

The woman nodded, "Girlfriend?"

Dean shook his head, "My brother. He got a full-ride to Stanford."

The bartender lifted an eyebrow, "Wow, congrats to him."

Dean tipped his beer bottle at the woman, "Thanks."

The bartender moved away to serve another customer and Dean watched the milling crowds of college kids as he waited for Sam's movie to let out.

SPN

Jessica chuckled as Sam held the door to the movie theatre open for her.

"Such a gentleman," she said and Sam blushed.

Brady rolled his eyes, "Get a room, you two."

"What do you want to do now?" he asked, checking his watch, "It's still pretty early."

Sam shrugged and Jessica spoke, "Let's walk around."

The trio took off down the street, laughing and joking, unaware that they were being watched.

W

"What's that smell?" Jessica asked and sniffed the air.

"I think it's coming from over there," Sam answered and pointed to a food stand in the distance, "Wanna go check it out?"

As they approached, the sweet smell grew stronger, causing their bellies to rumble despite the popcorn they had eaten at the theatre.

"What are they?" Jessica asked and peered curiously at the red and white sign above the vendor.

The sign was painted bright red, with white block letters spelling out the words 'BEAVERTAILS'. A Canadian flag hung from one side of the sign.

"Want one?" Brady asked, taking his wallet from the pocket of his jeans.

"Sure!" Jess answered and the young man looked at Sam.

"I've got it," the youngest Winchester said, hand going to grab his own wallet.

Brady, though, shook his head, "Next time. This one's on me."

SPN

Dean smirked as he watched the interaction between Sam and Brady.

The kid was trying way too hard. It took a lot to get on Sam's bad side. Why did he think paying for food was going to give him extra Brownie points? All it would do was embarrass Sam.

Dean didn't even know why Brady wanted to be Sam's friend so badly anyway. He came from a rich family and didn't seem like the kind of person who would voluntarily hang out with someone like Sam. Not that Sam wasn't great; he was. But despite his scholarship, it was clear he was by no means wealthy.

Whatever, to each his own; Dean thought. At least Brady wasn't being a dick.

Dean turned his attention away from Brady and focused on Sam and Jessica.

It was as clear as day that the girl liked Sam. The way she lean in when he spoke or when she touched his arm or hand every so often.

Yeah, she was sending all the signals, but Sam looked as awkward as hell.

Dean knew they had an apartment together; he had seen the building and he was surprised they had even gotten that far. He wondered if Jessica had been the one to suggest they move in together. He could just imagine Sam's face going beet red at the question.

SPN

"Thanks," Sam said as Brady handed him a BeaverTail.

It was a flat, slightly ovular-shaped deep fried piece of dough coated with what looked like cinnamon-sugar.

"Oh my gosh! This is so good!" Jessica announced around a mouthful of pastry.

Sam smirked and took a bite.

Jess had been right; it was delicious.

"I know someone who would love these," he said, thinking of his brother.

Even though Dean's favourite dessert was pie, he had a huge sweet tooth and would happily devour a BeaverTail if given one, Sam was sure of it.

"The guy said they were trying them out here to see if people liked them enough," Brady said.

"Who wouldn't love this?" Jess asked, chuckling and wiped cinnamon-sugar from her lips.

They continued eating, munching happily.

Sam coughed and cleared his throat.

Jessica glanced at him for a moment before finishing her BeaverTail.

Sam coughed again and reached up to rub his throat.

"You okay?" Jessica asked, thinking that some of the pastry might have gone down the wrong tube.

Sam frowned, eyebrows furrowing and opened his mouth to speak.

"I-I'm f-" his voice was raspy, as though he had a sore throat.

"Sam?" Brady asked, "What's wrong?"

Sam gasped suddenly and looked up, fear dawning on his face.

"Jess," he wheezed and staggered back.

"SAM!" Jess cried and clutched at Sam's hand as his legs gave out from under him and he fell to the sidewalk.

"What's happening to him?" Brady asked, panic clear in his voice.

Jess caught sight of the BeaverTail sign from the corner of her eye.

She rounded on Brady, "He's allergic to peanuts!"

The young man gaped.

"BRADY! YOU IDIOT!" Jess screamed and punched him in the chest.

Remembering her purse, Jessica tore open the zipper and pawed through its contents, searching for the EpiPen she always brought with her. It wasn't there.

"Shit," she swore; she must have left it in the apartment in the hurry to leave.

"Go! Get help!" she ordered Brady and the young man retreated, running down the sidewalk away from them.

A crowd had begun to gather but Jessica ignored them.

"I've called an ambulance," a silver-haired woman announced but Jessica didn't answer.

She dropped to her knees and cradled Sam's head. His eyes were barely open, almost swollen shut and he didn't appear to be breathing.

"Damn it, Sam," she whispered, "Breathe!"

Jess knew it was no use, unless Sam got a shot of adrenaline in a matter of minutes, he'd be dead.

"Sam, please," Jessica begged, brushing his bangs back from his brow, "Don't do this."

She could see that his lips were blue and the skin around them a pale white.

She was going to lose him.

SPN

Dean recognized the first signs of anaphylaxis as soon as Sam began to cough.

Not willing to take any chances, Dean headed to where he had left the parking lot in of the bar.

He knew he had an extra EpiPen in the glove compartment.

SPN

Jessica could hear the wailing of ambulance sirens but knew that they wouldn't arrive in time.

Despite her best efforts to stop them, tears leaked from her eyes and dripped down her nose.

"Hey!" A voice shouted from behind the crowd of gawkers, "Get the fuck out of my way!"

Jessica didn't move. She didn't know who was coming but it wasn't the paramedics so they couldn't help Sam.

A young man shoved his way into the small area around Jessica and Sam. The girl looked up and saw he had short-cropped light brown hair and green eyes. He was wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans and boots.

In his hand was a yellow EpiPen.

Going down on one knee beside Sam's prone form, the young man tore the cap off the EpiPen with his teeth and touched his thumb to the plunger.

As though he had done so before, the mysterious man jammed the needle into Sam's thigh, piercing through his jeans and pressed the plunger.

Jessica stared at the young man- who only looked a few years older than Sam- as he paused for a moment before retreating, fading into the crowd.

"Wait!" Jessica called out but he was already gone.

"Let us through!" a new voice shouted and Jessica saw the familiar navy blue uniforms and luminous yellow vests of the paramedics as they pushed past the crowd towards her and Sam.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly and saw Jessica's blotchy face staring down at him.

"Sam," she said and lifted his hand, "You're okay."

"Wha- what happened?" he asked, his mouth tasted sweet and he didn't know why. Hell, he didn't even know where he was.

"You had an allergic reaction to those BeaverTail things," Jessica explained.

Oh, well that cleared up a lot of questions.

"Glad I always have you to remember my EpiPen," Sam said and pulled himself up.

His throat was still sore but he knew it would go away in a few hours.

Jessica, instead of looking triumphant, glanced down, "Well, I forgot it. When we were leaving."

Sam frowned, "But… if you didn't bring the pen, how am I not dead?"

Jessica looked up, her blue eyes swimming with tears, "You almost did! I was so scared! But then this guy ran up with an EpiPen! He saved you! And I don't even know his name."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed; some random stranger runs up with an EpiPen and used it on him?

It seemed just a little too convenient.

Realization dawned on Sam and he smiled, eyes pricking with tears.

"Sam, are you alright?" Jessica asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered, "And I know who it was."

"Who?" Jess asked curiously.

"My brother."


	6. A Shot In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from AshleyMarie84: Dean accidentally shoots Sam and he needs to be rushed to the Emergency Room. Set after Season 2, Episode 17 "Heart".

A branched cracked loudly somewhere behind Dean and he tensed, swinging the muzzle of his gun around.

Squinting in the pale moonlight, he waited with bated breath for the attack. None came.

Sighing, Dean turned forward and continued through the trees.

Dean was unusually anxious about this hunt. Only a couple of weeks had passed since Sam had shot Madison and Dean didn't think he was ready to go up against a werewolf so soon.

But Sam had insisted, saying that he couldn't avoid cases for the rest of his life just because they reminded him of her.

Despite what Sam had said, Dean could see this was hard for him. He had been very quiet as they were interviewing the witnesses, allowing Dean to take the lead and ask all the questions. He had refused to go down to the morgue to examine the remains of the victims, telling Dean he would rather look over the notes he had written during the interviews.

When it became clear that a young woman was their target, Sam's expression turned oddly blank, as though he were trying to distance himself from the fact that he may have to shoot another poor girl again.

I should have told him to stay at the motel, Dean thought, it's not like I haven't hunted werewolves on my own before.

Sure, it was more dangerous but it was possible.

Now Dean was regretting letting Sam come with him. He just hoped he was the one to kill the girl and not his brother.

W

A night bird burst from the underbrush directly in front of Dean and the young man jumped.

"Shit!" he swore loudly, before regaining his composure.

Shaking his head, Dean squinted into the darkness. He just wanted to get this over with.

He carefully picked his way through the forest for a few more feet before the sound of heavy footfalls and breaking branches was heard. Whatever was crashing through the trees was coming straight towards him!

Dean lifted his gun; he just knew it was the werewolf.

Before the creature could break through the underbrush, Dean squeezed the trigger.

Silence filled the forest once again. Dean waited for a howl of pain to let him know he'd hit the monster but none came.

Dean smirked; he must have hit it dead on.

Taking his flashlight out from his jacket pocket, Dean turned it on and stepped forward. He now had a body to dispose of. He'd check out the beast and then text Sam to let him know it was all over.

Sweeping the beam of the flashlight along the ground, Dean caught sight of crimson spots splattering the leaf litter.

As he stepped closer, he spied a shoe.

Dean's heart leaped into his throat. That was not right. Werewolves ended up as naked as they day they were born when they changed back to human form.

Besides, Dean was staring at a man's shoe. A very familiar man's shoe.

Lifting the flashlight, Dean illuminated the figure and his blood ran cold.

It was Sam!

His brother was lying crumpled on the forest floor, his face deathly pale as blood wept from a bullet wound in his side.

"Sammy!" Dean cried and dropped to the ground beside his sibling.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" Dean reached out and lifted his brother's head.

Sam's eyes fluttered but didn't open.

"D'n," he murmured, lips barely moving.

"Fuck! Okay, okay," Dean hissed, "I've got ya. You're okay."

He carefully lifted up his brother's shirt and cringed at the sight of the wound; it was beyond his ability to repair.

Sam wasn't in immediate danger- Dean didn't think- but he needed to get to the hospital or he'd bleed out.

Dean shoved the flashlight and gun into his jacket pocket and grabbed Sam underneath the armpits.

The younger man groaned in protest but Dean ignored him. Sam was too heavy and big for Dean to pick up so he walked backwards, holding his sibling up enough so that only his heels dragged on the ground.

He needed to get Sam out of the forest. Not only was he in danger of bleeding to death but also the scent was sure to attract the werewolf they had been hunting.

Dean only prayed the monster was far away from them.

W

Dean's arms ached and his knees were shaking by the time he stepped out of the forest and spotted the Impala parked at the side of the gravel road.

Although there were walking trails in the forest, Dean and Sam had followed the werewolf, and not the easily marked paths.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean muttered, "We're almost there."

Sam didn't respond; he hung limply in Dean's arms, head resting on his chest.

Stopping at the passenger side of the Chevy, Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's torso while he used his free hand to unlock the car.

Opening the door, Dean carefully positioned Sam in the seat, breathing sharply when he saw that Sam's shirt and one side of his jeans were stained with blood.

Slamming the door shut, Dean ran around to the driver's side and clambered into the Impala. He turned the key in the ignition so quickly that the engine stalled for a moment.

"C'mon Baby," Dean said, "Sammy needs help."

The engine roared to life and Dean pulled a U-turn, bits of gravel spitting out from underneath the Chevy's tires as it sped down the road.

W

Luck seemed to have decided to give the Winchesters a hand and Dean hit green lights all the way to the hospital, driving well over the posted speed limits all the way.

Dean turned into the hospital parking lot, driving up to the Emergency doors before stopping. A couple of doctors and nurses were standing by the entrance, drinking coffee; they stared at the frantic brother for a moment before moving to help.

"What happened? A short, curly-haired nurse asked as Dean opened the passenger side door.

"My brother's been shot," he answered and the next few minutes were a flurry of activity as Sam was lifted onto a stretcher and rolled into the hospital.

Dean followed along behind the doctors and nurses, stopping only when he was barred from going through a set of double doors.

Sighing, Dean ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and wandered back outside to move the Impala.

As he drove through the parking lot, Dean's panic began to wane, becoming replaced with guilt.

He had shot Sam. He had hurt his own brother. Sam was dying because of him.

If he had just been more careful Sam might not be in the Emergency operating room right now.

He really should have made Sam stay in the motel room.

Dean found a spot and pulled into the space, pausing for a moment to glance at the passenger's side of the car.

Blood gleamed dully against the black leather of the seat, illuminated by the streetlight outside.

Dean felt his gorge rise and wondered if he was going to be sick.

Dean ducked his head, taking deep breaths, trying to get himself under control.

Sam was going to be okay. He was. He had been through worse. He'd make it.

Dean raised his head, took the keys from the Impala's ignition and got out of the car.

He walked slowly back across the parking lot. He knew he'd be in for a long wait anyway, so why should he hurry?

Once inside again, Dean went up to the front desk and got the paperwork he needed to fill out.

He wondered if the police were going to be called. They probably were, seeing as Sam had been shot. Dean needed to start working on a good cover story.

W

Hours passed and Dean remained where he was, sitting in an uncomfortable yellow chair in the waiting room.

People filed through as he waited; a clearly drunk man who'd appeared to have been in a bar fight, a woman wither her feverish toddler.

The local cops did arrive, a few hours after Dean had, and questioned him.

He told them that some punk had tried to mug them and when they wouldn't hand over their money, Sam had been shot. Dean remained vague on the details- that was the best way to go- and the cops didn't question it. His brother had been seriously injured, who wouldn't be a little out of it?

They thanked Dean for his time, wished Sam a speedy recovery and left.

Dean made friends with the coffee maker sitting in one corner of the waiting room and visited it numerous times throughout the night.

W

Golden sunlight was streaming through the smeary windows of the waiting room when a harried-looking female doctor stepped out from the double doors and approached Dean.

"Family of Sam Winchester?"

Dean stood up instantly, "Is he okay?"

Surely he had to be alive. They wouldn't have waited all night to tell him otherwise.

The doctor nodded, "He's in the ICU right now."

Dean's heart stopped, "The ICU? It was that bad?"

"I'm afraid so," the doctor said; now Dean knew why she looked so stressed.

"The bullet punctured your brother's colon," she explained.

"That's part of the intestines, right?" Dean asked, feeling light-headed.

"It is. There was other damage but the colon received the worst of it," the doctor told Dean.

"We were able to repair the puncture but I will tell you that your brother is not out of danger yet," she continued, "He could very easily develop an infection right now because of the gastrointestinal fluid that leaked out from the injury. I've put him on a strong anti-biotic and IV fluids."

Dean swallowed thickly, "What else?"

"Your brother has two broken ribs and a bruised pancreas."

Dean nodded; the doctor was right, those didn't sound as bad as having a fucking hole in your colon.

"Can I see him?" he asked and the doctor nodded, "He's sedated right now but that should be fine."

Dean followed the doctor through the double doors and down the hallway to the ICU. Before even being allowed into his brother's room he had to scrub his hands and arms all the way up to his elbows with a harsh-smelling soap, put a blue cap on his head, booties on his shoes and a gown.

At least the doctor was taking Sam's health seriously. She wasn't playing around.

Dean sat down beside his sibling and stared at the machines surrounding him. He had a heart monitor peeping with every beat of his heart, an IV line running to his hand, and a tube in his nose.

Sam's face was pale and beaded with sweat, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

Dean bit his lip and carefully reached out to hold Sam's hand, "I'm so sorry."

W

Despite what the doctor had said, Dean remained by Sam's side, wanting nothing more but for his brother to wake up.

He barely noticed when the nurse on duty entered the room.

"I'm sorry but visiting hours are about to end," she said quietly.

Dean nodded and was about to release his brother's hand when he felt Sam's fingers slightly squeeze his own.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered and leaned forward, "Sam?"

The nurse moved towards the two brothers, observing her patient in case she needed to call the doctor.

Dean felt Sam squeeze his hand again and he grinned, "That's right, little brother; I'm here."

Slowly, painfully, the young man's eyes slid open to slits, the green irises barely visible.

Dean found himself choking back tears. He'd been feeling so damn guilty for hours now and seeing Sam open his eyes somehow made it all seem a waste of energy.

Sam was a Winchester; he could make it through anything!

"Hey buddy," Dean murmured, smiling even as Sam's eyes slipped closed again because he just knew that his brother was going to be okay.

Standing and laying Sam's hand down by his side, Dean stretched, "You take good care of my brother while I'm gone, okay?"

The nurse nodded and smiled, "I promise. He's in good hands with me."

"I know he will be," Dean said and left the room, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and a darkness disappear from his heart.


	7. Sink Or Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from WinchesterGirl2975: Wee!Chester; Sam is 8 and Dean is 12. Sam falls off a dock and nearly drowns. Dean finds him and gives him CPR. The younger Winchester, not out of the woods yet, contracts pneumonia.

Dean laughed as he watched Sam run alongside the lake. The second-grader couldn't be happier! This was like a holiday for Sammy.

Dean smiled but he knew that it would end all too soon. Their Dad had rented this lakeside cabin from another hunter for a few days while they hunted a local witch. It was a heck of a lot cheaper than paying for a motel room. The hunter, a man named Harvey, rarely used the place anyway. He had a trailer he stayed at in town.

"Look Dean!" Sam shouted and crouched down at the water's edge, staring at something in the lake.

The twelve-year old walked over and saw a half-dozen tadpoles swimming around in the warm, shallow water.

John had told the boys to stay inside the cabin but Sam had wanted to go down to the small lake just a few feet away from the building. Dean, who couldn't say 'no' to Sammy's puppy-eyes, had told his brother they could go outside for only a half an hour.

Bored of the tadpoles, Sam splashed through the shallows, cattails shaking in his wake.

"Stay close, Sammy!" Dean called casually.

Glancing around, he had to admit that it was really cool out here. Huge cypress trees with Spanish moss hanging from their branches dwarfed the boys; kudzu weeds crawled along the spongy ground and up the sides of the cabin. The air smelt damp and earthy, full of life.

Midges and mosquitos buzzed incessantly around the boys' heads, attracted by the sweat on their skin.

Sam ran back to Dean, his shoes muddy, holding something in his hands.

"What've you got there?" Dean asked, peering down at Sam's prize.

The amphibian squirmed against the boy's hands, its tiny legs scrabbling for purchase. It had a flat, spade-shaped head and a sail-shaped tail. It was a dull brown colour with beady black eyes.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked, running one finger gently down the creature's back.

"I think it's a mudpuppy," he replied, "Why don't you put it back where you found it, okay?"

"Yeah!" Sam agreed and ran away, clutching the salamander.

Dean chuckled; only Sam would be able to catch one of those critters. He'd have to remember to get his brother to wash his hands before eating anything.

Dean continued along, keeping an ear keen for sounds from his brother.

Five minutes passed and Sam hadn't come running back. Dean frowned, what was his brother doing?

"I hope there's no alligators out here," Dean muttered to himself.

"Sammy! C'mon! Let's go inside for lunch!" Dean shouted and paused; waiting for the dull thud of his brother's footsteps but only heard the whine of insects.

"Sam! Come here!" Dean called again, continuing to walk around the edge of the lake, peering into the bulrushes, wondering if his brother was trying to hide from him and scare him.

Dean wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to keep his heart from picking up pace.

"Sam! This isn't funny! I'm not playing around!"

Still no response from his sibling.

Panic began to set in and Dean found himself running, shoes sinking into the soft ground.

"Sam! Sammy, where are you?!"

Dean sprinted around the curve the lake created and caught sight of an old dock, half-sunken into the water and covered with moss.

Panting, Dean bent down with his hands on his knees and saw child-sized shoe prints in the mud… and they led directly to the dock.

"Sam!" Dean cried and ran forwards, the dock's wooden beams creaking under his weight.

Peering around, Dean didn't see his brother at first, but then, he noticed a pale arm sticking out from the cattails to one side of the dock.

"Oh God," Dean whispered and leaped off the dock. The water was warm but it came up to his shoulders as he waded through it towards his sibling.

"Sammy!" Dean called again, getting a mouthful of water at the same time, "Sam!"

Dean's heart wrenched in his chest when he came closer and saw his brother more clearly; Sam was floating facedown in the water, his hair matted to his face.

Dean crashed forwards and grabbed his younger brother, Sam's wet clothes and dead weight making him unnaturally heavy.

Dean stomped through the cattails, crushing the plants in his rush to get to the shore.

"No," Dean whispered as he laid Sam down on his back and saw his milk-pale face and blue lips, "No, please, Sammy."

Dean lowered his head and pressed his ear to Sam's still chest.

No heart beat beneath the sopping clothes.

"NO!" Dean cried and looked up, around, as though someone would appear and help him.

Peering down at his sibling, Dean felt tears well up in his eyes, "Please, don't do this, Sammy. Please wake up."

Sam did not do as Dean begged however. He remained still and silent.

Suddenly, Dean remembered what Uncle Bobby had taught him about CPR the summer before and he quickly took action.

Dean carefully titled Sam's head back, laid his hands flat on his brother's chest and began to do the compressions. After a set of ten, Dean leaned forward and pinched Sam's nose close, breathing into his mouth before starting the compressions again.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean ground out after a minute passed and he had made no progress. His arms were shaking and he felt out of breath but he did not stop.

Dean bent forward to breathe into his brother's mouth again when Sam suddenly bucked, choking and coughing up lukewarm lake water.

Dean's heart skipped a beat and he helped the eight-year old onto his side as water gushed from Sam's mouth and nose.

After a moment Sam gasped and blinked up at Dean; tears welling up in his green eyes and overflowing.

"D'n!" Sam hiccupped and grabbed onto Dean's shirt.

The older boy crushed his sibling to him in a fierce hug.

"Don't you ever do that to me again! You hear me?" Dean scolded, still clutching his brother to his chest.

"I- I fell in!" Sam wailed, "I c-couldn't get out!"

Dean closed his eyes and raised his hand to run his fingers through Sam's damp hair.

"C'mon, let's go inside," Dean murmured and picked his brother up, carrying him towards the cabin.

He'd get Sam settled on the couch, make him some soup and let him watch cartoons for the rest of the afternoon.

W

"Dee," the eight-year old called out and his brother was instantly at his side.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asked. His sibling's face was still very pale but was now slick with sweat.

Sam's eyes were wet as he stared up at his big brother, "Don' feel good."

Dean reached out and touched his sibling's brow. His forehead was warm.

"I'm going to get the thermometer," Dean said; just to be sure.

"No, Dee," Sam protested, "No 'thometer."

Dean looked into his sibling's pleading eyes. Sam knew that if the thermometer came out he might end up in the hospital and he hated hospitals.

"I gotta, Sammy," he said and went into the cabin's tiny bathroom, grabbing the First Aid kit John had left under the sink.

Making his way back into the living room, Dean frowned when he saw that Sam had abandoned the couch.

"Sammy?" he called, "Where are you?"

Looking around, Dean frowned. If Sam really was sick- and he probably was (who knew what was in that lake)- then he needed his temperature taken so Dean would know how to make him feel better. There was a bottle of children's cherry-flavoured Tylenol in the First Aid kit as well that Dean was ready to use if the fever ended up being too high.

"C'mon Sam, you know the drill," Dean said, "The sooner you let me take your temperature the sooner you'll feel better."

Sam didn't appear. Dean sighed and stepped up onto the couch, standing on the piece of furniture to try and get a better look at the living room.

A coughing sound came from down the short hallway, towards the bedroom. Dean smiled and headed that way.

He found Sam huddled under the flannel blankets of one of the beds.

Lifting the covers, Dean gave his sibling a sympathetic look, "I know you don't like it but maybe it won't be so bad this time."

The last illness Sam had picked up had landed him in the hospital for a week. The pediatric room where he was staying- painted yellow and decorated with life-sized clown stickers- terrified him. But the nurses couldn't do anything about it, all the rooms had clowns and they wouldn't move him to the adult wing.

"Don' wanna go to the clown hospital 'gain," Sam moaned unhappily.

"I know you don't," Dean said, "And you won't have to if you let me check your temperature."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean as though trying to decide whether he could trust him.

"Promise?"

Dean smiled, "I promise."

Sam opened his mouth and Dean placed the end of the thermometer underneath his sibling's tongue.

As Dean was watching the numbers go up, Sam started coughing again, spitting green mucus onto his sleeve.

"Gross," Dean muttered and grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand, wiping the mess off his brother's shirt.

The thermometer beeped and Dean's suspicions were confirmed; Sam had a fever.

"You want to go back to the living room or stay here?" Dean asked.

"Here," Sam said and snuggled beneath the blankets, shivering slightly.

"Okay," Dean said, "I'll be right back with the medicine."

Sam nodded as he pulled the edge of the blanket up to his chin.

W

"Deeeann!"

"DEEEAAN!"

The twelve-year old was instantly out of bed and at his brother's side.

Sam had slept off and on for the rest of the day, waking up long enough to have some more soup and medicine.

Dean glanced at the alarm clock and saw that it was just past one AM.

Sam's hair was plastered to his brow with sweat and his eyes looked sunken and terrified.

"My chest hurts," he whimpered, rubbing the area as though trying to sooth the pain himself.

Dean frowned and listened to his brother's breathing, it sounded funny.

Dean's eyes widened and he ran down the hall without a word.

"Deeaaan!" Sam cried after his brother as he dashed into the living room.

John had fallen asleep on the couch, notes strewn all over the coffee table in front of him.

"Dad! Dad! Wake up! Sammy's really sick!"

Dean climbed onto the couch and shook his father's arm, John waking up within moments.

"Huh? Dean? What's wrong?" he wiped his face and blinked tiredly at his eldest son.

"Sammy's really sick," Dean explained and tugged his father's arm again.

Dean had told John that Sam had woken up ill that morning; he had said nothing about his brother falling into the lake and neither had Sam.

John stood and walked down the hall to the bedroom.

Flicking on the light, the father startled slightly at the sight of his youngest boy. It was clear that he was still burning with fever.

"Daddy," Sam whined, "Hurts here."

Sam put a small hand on his chest and began coughing.

"Dean, get the car keys," John said, "We're going to the Emergency."

Dean ran out of the room and found the Impala's keys where John had tossed them upon his return.

He waited anxiously as John appeared, carrying Sam.

Dean handed his father the keys and they headed out to the vehicle. Dean climbed into the backseat with his brother as John drove into town.

W

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly and yawned. John glanced down at him, one arm over his son's shoulders.

They had waited for four hours before Sam had been taken into an examination room and then another three hours more while they their youngest was looked at by doctors.

A young, female doctor stepped into the waiting room.

"Family of Samuel Winchester?" she asked, glancing around the nearly deserted waiting area.

"It's Sam," Dean corrected immediately and hopped down from his chair, "Is he going to be okay? Can we see him?"

"I'm John," Dean's Dad said, "Sam's father, and this is Dean, my oldest."

The doctor introduced herself, "Sam will be fine. We did a chest x-ray and discovered the early signs of pneumonia. Don't worry, sir, with antibiotics it should be cleared up in a week or so."

"Can we take Sam home?" Dean asked, knowing how upset his sibling probably was at that moment.

"Of course," the doctor said and smiled at Dean.

She handed John the prescription and led the small family towards the exam rooms.

W

Sam smiled at his father and brother when they stepped into the small rom.

"Look what I got!" he exclaimed, showing off a bright red lollipop.

"Doctor said I was the best patient ever!" Sam announced, beaming.

Dean chuckled, "I bet you were."

"Can we go now?" Sam asked, peering up at his father.

"Sure thing, Sport," John said and helped Sam down from the exam table.

The eight-year old grabbed his brother's hand, covering his mouth with the other one as he coughed.

Dean was glad Sam was alrigth to go home. He hated seeing his sibling in the hospital as much as Sam hated being there. At least they had caught the pneumonia right away and could beat it with antibiotics.

Sometimes the Winchesters seemed to be the unluckiest family… but other times Lady Luck smiled on them.


	8. Walking Tall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Jaden Gracel: After Lucifer rose, Sam looked defeated, slouching to the point where Dean was as tall as him. It kept going for a long time after that, to the point where Dean had grown used to it. So when Sam suddenly places himself between Dean and the bikers and stretches to his full height, he's shocked. And not just a little bit intimidated. Set after Season 4, Episode 5 "The End".  
> Warning: Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide.

All Dean had been trying to do was take his brother's mind off the impending Apocalypse.

He had never meant for anything bad to happen to his brother; God knows Sam already had enough on his plate to deal with.

Dean was tired though.

He was tired of Sam not looking him in the eye.

He was tired of Sam waking up during the night, plagued by nightmares.

He was tired of Sam barely eating.

He was tired of the arguments that always arose.

Sam would try and apologize for what had happened and Dean would tell him again and again that it was unnecessary.

"I was the one who broke the first Seal, Sammy," he'd say, "It's my fault."

"But you didn't know what you were doing!" Sam would retort, "I went against your back, deliberately ignored you and let the Devil out!"

Dean hated that Sam was trying to make what he had done in Hell okay; as if he hadn't freely taken up the blade and shed blood.

"It was me, Sam. I'm to blame. If I had only been stronger, that Seal would have remained intact."

Sam would just stare at Dean, "You didn't have a choice, Dean. I did. And I fucked up."

Dean hated seeing Sam so wracked with guilt. It was as though a great weight had settled on his brother's shoulders and the young man actually shrank under the influence. He seemed to diminish so much that Dean was actually as tall as his brother.

But Dean grew used to it. He grew used to Sam carrying all the guilt himself.

He grew accustomed to Sam's new demeanor but that didn't mean he had to like it.

That was why, on a night off, Dean coaxed Sam into going with him to a bar. Normally Sam would just stay in the motel room, feigning exhaustion, but Dean knew better. Sam would lie in bed for hours, wide awake and replay the mistakes he had made the past year over and over, obsessing over them.

"You are going to the bar with me," Dean insisted, "I need my wingman."

Sam didn't even smile, "You don't need me to help you get girls."

Dean grinned but he wasn't really feeling it, "If you noticed how many girls check you out when we're in public, you'd say otherwise. You've got that 'tall, dark, mysterious' look that chicks swoon over."

Sam didn't look convinced.

"Don't make me drag you out of here," Dean threatened good-naturedly.

"I'm-" Sam began but Dean interrupted.

"If you say 'I'm tired', I'll deck you," he said, "It'll just be a few hours, Sammy, c'mon. For me?"

Dean did his best to imitate his brother's 'puppy eyes'. Sam sighed and stood, "Fine, if it'll get you off my back."

"Atta boy!" Dean cheered and clapped Sam on the back as they left the motel room.

W

The bar was crowded and humid and smelly. Dean loved it.

While he played pool, Sam sat in a booth, watching listlessly.

Dean had made him order a beer but he could see that Sam hadn't touched it.

"Who's next?" Dean asked and he grabbed the stack of twenties from the side of the pool table, smirking at the sour look the tourist who'd just lost his money.

Two burly bikers, both featuring Duck Dynasty beards approached the pool table.

W

"Yer a filthy cheat!" One of the bikers snarled at Dean as he scooped up his winnings.

"No, I just play better pool than a couple of 'Deliverance' extras," Dean mocked, stuffing the bills into his wallet.

He felt the bikers' eyes on his back as he returned to the booth but he ignored them.

As he sat down across from Sam, he saw the two men leave, slamming the front door open in their anger.

Deciding he had collected enough money for the night, Dean leaned back and caught the attention of one of the waitresses, ordering himself another beer.

"You shouldn't have said that, Dean," Sam told him as he picked the label off his untouched bottle of beer.

Dean shrugged, "They shouldn't be such sore losers."

W

"What do you say we call it a night, Sammy?" Dean asked and stood before his brother answered because he knew what Sam was going to say.

Dean flipped some bills onto the table to pay for the beers and headed to the door, Sam walking behind him.

The parking lot was dark when they stepped outside, the single pole light at its edge burnt out. Dean could see the Impala clearly though, on the far side of the lot, a lone sentinel.

Dean started to whistle happily, striding confidently across the asphalt.

When the brothers were mere feet from the Chevy, however, two men slipped from the darkness and stood in their way.

Dean recognized the bikers from the bar.

"Give us our money back," one demanded, hand held out expectantly.

Dean shook his head, "Sorry boys, I won fair and square."

"Not if you cheated," the second biker snarled.

"I didn't cheat," Dean said, "It's called talent."

The first biker pulled a gun from the back of his vest, "How about I just shoot you and take our money back?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak again- he wasn't scared of these asshats- but suddenly Sam was blocking his view of them.

Dean gaped as Sam straightened up to his full 6' 4" and towered over the bikers.

"Who the fuck're you?" the first biker asked and Dean's eyes widened in shock.

They hadn't even noticed Sam!

"Go now and you won't get hurt," Sam said softly, calmly, the tone so threatening that it even intimidated Dean.

"Give us our money!" the second biker shrieked.

"Leave and there won't be any trouble," Sam said in that eerily calm voice once again.

The bikers laughed, "Who's gonna give us trouble? You? We don't take orders from the Jolly Green Giant."

"We don't have time for this shit," the first biker announced and Dean jumped when the crack of a firearm cut through the night air.

A cry sounded from the bar and the bikers started running across the parking lot towards their motorcycles.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted and stepped up beside his brother.

The younger man didn't look up, he seemed fascinated by the sight a dark stain blossoming on his chest.

"Sammy?" Dean asked and grabbed his brother's arm, pulled down when the younger man's legs gave out and he collapsed onto the pavement.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and slapped his hands over the gunshot.

Dean barely heard the rumble of motorcycles as the bikers fled, bumping over the boulevard and into traffic.

"Sam, you idiot," Dean said through gritted teeth, "What the hell did you do that for?"

Sam didn't answer. Even in the dim light, Dean could see his brother's face had gone pale and his eyes were beginning to dull.

"No, no, no you don't," Dean snarled and pressed his hands down harder on Sam's chest.

Hot blood squelched between Dean's fingers and they almost slipped.

"HELP! Somebody! HELP!" Dean cried at the top of his voice.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused him to look up and he saw a balding man wearing a blue golf shirt and khakis.

"I've called the police," he said breathlessly, "They should be here soon."

Dean glanced down at Sam, "Not soon enough."

W

A crowd began to gather- patrons from the bar- and in the distance Dean could hear the wail of sirens.

"D'n," Sam groaned and lifted his ice-cold hands to lay on top of Dean's.

"Don't talk," Dean told him, heart skipping a beat at the sight of blood leaking from between his sibling's pale lips.

"S'okay, D'n," Sam whispered and his fingers plucked at Dean's.

"Sam," Dean said, "What're you doing?"

"Let… go… D'n," Sam muttered.

"The police are here!" a voice called out from the crowd of onlookers but Dean ignored it.

"Let us through! Get out of the way!" an angry male voice said as the paramedics attempted to push through the throng.

Dean stared at Sam for a long moment and something- somehow- told him that his brother knew what he saw doing.

Dean lifted his hands from Sam's chest and sat back on his heels.

Sam's eyes closed halfway and his chest rose once, failing to fall again.

A female paramedic appeared beside Dean while the police began dispersing the gawkers.

"We need a stretcher! Single gunshot wound to the chest!" she shouted to her companions and they rushed to act.

Two men lifted Sam onto a stretcher and the entire team moved as one towards the ambulance. Dean followed along behind them, shocked, Sam's blood drying on his hands.

"He's not responding! Not getting a heartbeat!" the female paramedic cried and opened Sam's shirt, buttons flying in every direction.

Dean watched as one of the male paramedics attempted to defibrillate Sam while the woman watched for signs of life.

The hell did you do, Sam? Dean thought. Was this your plan all along? To get yourself killed? Was it the guilt? Was it too much?

Oh God, why didn't I try to help you! Dean lamented, tears springing into his eyes; I ignored you! I saw but I didn't do anything to help!

"He's gone," the female paramedic shook her head and the man set the paddles down.

Dean's knees turned to jelly and he collapsed onto the ground.

No, it couldn't be. Sam couldn't be dead. Not like this. Not in the parking lot of some shitty bar, killed by a pissed off biker.

The tears overflowed and streamed down Dean's cheeks. He grabbed his short-cropped hair in shaking hands and let out a cry of fury and grief.

"What the hell?" the male paramedic suddenly cried.

"Is that? I don't believe it!" the female paramedic said and Dean looked up.

"He's… He's alive!" the woman cried, awestruck.

"BP is 42/56 and rising!" the female paramedic announced, grinning.

Dean pulled himself up from the ground and walked stiffly towards the ambulance.

"Sammy?"

The younger man's eyes were closed and he was still as pale as a sheet but his chest was rising and falling rhythmically despite the wound.

"Let's get him to the hospital," the male paramedic said and glanced at Dean, "You coming?"

Dean nodded and climbed into the back of the vehicle. He sat stunned as the EMS team worked to stabilize Sam.

Sam had been dead. He was sure of it. The paramedics had said so. Then how was he alive now?

A thought suddenly occurred to Dean and he stared down at his brother.

Was it Lucifer?

Had he saved Sam from certain death?

That seemed like the most reasonable answer.

Dean shuddered.

He wondered if Michael would bring him back if he bit the dust.

W

Dean smiled when Sam opened his eyes. The doctors had taken the bullet out of Sam's chest and repaired the damage- completely flabbergasted by the fact that Sam was not stone cold dead upon arrival at the hospital.

Dean would have to get Sam discharged before the doctor decided he needed to call in the big dogs and Sam ended up as a lab specimen or something but for now he was content with the fact that his sibling was alive.

"You are a complete idiot," Dean said, "What were you thinking?"

Sam blinked up at Dean for a moment.

"Dean… I have to… tell you something…" Sam replied quietly, eyes wet.

"Is it that Lucifer brought you back?" Dean asked, trying not to sound smug about it.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise.

"H-How did you know?" he stammered.

"I'm your big brother, Sammy, it's my job to know things."

"He… He said he wouldn't let me die… even if I tried to kill myself," Sam whispered.

Dean frowned, "Sam, did you? I'm serious now. Did you try to kill yourself?"

Sam averted his gaze, looking instead at the wall beside him.

Dean reached out and gripped his brother's hand, "Sam."

The younger man turned his head and looked at his brother. Very slowly he nodded.

"When?" Dean asked, feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"After I called you… and you told me to leave," Sam admitted, "I didn't know what to do! I was scared!"

Dean clenched his jaw.

"How?" he asked.

"I h-had some sleeping pills in my duffel bag…" Sam confessed, "I took the whole bottle."

Dean sat back and wiped a hand over his face, "Jesus Christ, Sam. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you tell you?" Sam replied.

Dean sighed and shook his head.

"What are we going to do about this, Sammy?" Dean asked, not really wanting an answer from his brother.

Keep a better goddamned eye on Sam, that's for sure, Dean thought.

"Sam," Dean said and leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, "I want you to promise me something."

Sam spoke quickly, "I won't try it again! I promise."

Dean held a hand up, "It's not that… It's… If you need to talk… about what's happened… about Lucifer… And I mean really talk, not play the 'blame game', will you do that? I don't care when or where, if you need to talk about this, you do it, okay?"

The guilt was killing Sam; Dean knew that now.

He'd thought everything would be fine if he ignored it, that the problem would go away if he didn't acknowledge it but that was wrong. Once the problem- the guilt and fear- was ignored it was allowed to fester and Dean could not, would not let that happen anymore.

Sam was his responsibility. Always had been and always will be and he had to protect him.

Sam nodded, "Okay, Dean. I promise."

Dean smiled, "Why don't you get some rest? I'll see if I can get you checked out in a few hours."

Sam closed his eyes and Dean watched for a moment as his brother fell asleep.

He looks just like a little kid, Dean thought. All of the guilt and heartache that was visible when Sam was awake melted away as he slept. Sam was his baby brother again.

Dean shook his head; Sam would always be his baby brother, no matter what happened, no matter what came between them. They would always stick together.


	9. Saturday Night Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from mb64: Wee!Chester where Sam is 6 and Dean is 10. John leaves the boys alone in a motel room and Sam gets a bad fever. Dean takes care of him.

Sam had been fine all day. He ate a large bowl Lucky Charms for breakfast. He had picked out his favourite Superman t-shirt to wear. He had brushed his teeth and combed his hair.

He watched cartoons for a couple of hours quietly. He didn't bother Dean as he worked on his homework. He didn't ask when their father would be back.

When Dean made cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch, Sam didn't complain. He played 'The Floor Is Lava' for ten minutes, jumping from one piece of furniture in the motel room to another before Dean had put a stop to the game. Sam snuggled up beside his brother as Dean read to him, not a first-grader's book but one he had for his own 'independent reading' at school.

Sam had been fine all day- a babysitters dream, really- until dinnertime rolled around.

Sam stared down at the bowl of Spaghetti-O's Dean put in front of him but didn't pick up his spoon.

"Eat up Sammy," Dean said as he dug into his own dinner, "Before it gets cold."

Instead of doing as his brother suggested, Sam pushed to bowl away, "My tummy hurts."

Dean frowned, "I'm not falling for it, Sam. Eat your dinner."

"But Dean-" Sam began but the ten-year old shook his head.

"We don't have anything else, Sammy. You have to eat that."

Knowing he wasn't going to win the argument, the six-year old nodded and picked up his spoon and began eating slowly.

Dean frowned. What was wrong? Sam loved Spaghetti-O's.

Maybe its because we've eaten them for dinner three nights in a row now, Dean thought, he's probably just tired of them.

Dean later learned that he shouldn't have force Sam to eat the pasta and tomato sauce because a half an hour it came back for an encore.

Sam was lying on his stomach on the motel floor in front of the television, scribbling in a colouring book John had bought from a dollar store.

The six-year old turned to say something to Dean, who was sitting on the end of his bed watching TV, when the semi-digested noodles and sauce exploded from Sam's mouth.

"Shit!" Dean swore and jumped from the couch, grabbing his brother under the armpits and lifting him up from the floor.

Sam's chin, neck and the front of his shirt were smeared with sick.

As Dean carried him into the bathroom, Sam's eyes welled with tears and he began to cry.

Dean set his brother down and wiped Sam's face with a washcloth he'd used earlier that day.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured comfortingly, "don't cry."

"My tummy hurts, Dee," Sam whimpered.

"I know buddy," the ten-year old said and gripped the hem of his brother's shirt, "Let's get this off you, okay?"

The little boy lifted his arms and Dean pulled the shirt up as quickly as possible, dropping it to the floor.

After making sure that there was no vomit on the rest of Sam's clothes, Dean tossed the t-shirt into the bathtub, put the stopper in and ran water over the soiled garment.

"S'cold, Dee," Sam wrapped his thin arms around himself and Dean nodded in sympathy, "I'll get you a clean shirt in a minute."

The ten-year old turned off the water and reached out to feel his brother's forehead.

Sam's brow was hot and clammy beneath his hand.

"Okay Sammy," Dean said, "We're gonna but your PJs on and get you into bed."

"But I'm not sleepy," Sam argued instantly.

"Tough luck," Dean said, "It's bedtime now."

Sam pouted but didn't say anything else.

Dean left his brother to go grab his pajamas and the bottle of children's Tylenol John had left- just in case- and a plastic spoon, returning to the bathroom.

Sam dressed slowly, his motions slightly uncoordinated, but he managed on his own.

"Okay, bud, open up," Dean said, holding a spoonful of the cherry-flavoured medicine up.

Sam did as he was told and Dean gave him the Tylenol.

After getting his brother to brush his teeth, Dean led Sam back into the main room and lifted the blankets off his bed.

"Can I sleep with you?" Sam asked, eyes large and round.

"Sure," Dean said and his brother eagerly crawled onto his sibling's bed.

Dean pulled the blankets over Sam until they touched his chin and then he sat on the side closest to the door, on top of the blankets, and turned down the TV so he could still watch his shows without waking Sam.

W

"Dee."

Dean opened his eyes and sat up. It was dark in the motel room; the only light came from the TV that was still on.

He must have fallen asleep!

Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, Dean saw that it was nine forty-five at night.

"Dee," the voice called again and Dean turned to his side and saw Sam lying beside him in the bed, eyes wide.

"Don' feel good," Sam muttered.

Dean reached out and laid a hand on his brow, the skin almost hot beneath his palm.

"I'll get you some more medicine," Dean told his brother and got up.

He wondered how long Sam had been awake for. He hoped it wasn't long.

Dean carefully measured out the correct amount of Tylenol into the plastic spoon and gave it to Sam.

"Dee?" Sam asked, "When's Daddy coming home?"

The older boy sighed, "I don't know, Sammy."

"Oh," the first grader said sadly, "Okay."

"Go back to sleep, Sammy," Dean said and the younger boy closed his eyes and snuggled beneath the blankets once again.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed beside his brother and brushed Sam's bangs away from his brow, checking his temperature as he did so.

Sam's eyes opened and he smiled up at Dean.

"Thanks Dee," he whispered.

"For what?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"For being the bestest big brother ever."

Dean's heart melted, "Thanks Sammy. Now go to sleep."

The six-year old rolled over onto his side and sighed, closing his eyes.

Dean turned off the television and laid down beside his sleeping sibling, "Thanks for being the bestest little brother."


	10. What Nadine Did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Jeanny: Pre-series. Sam is 14, Dean is 18. The Winchesters team up with another group of hunters and a member of the party gets hurt. The hunters lie about what happened and blame Sam for the injuries. John believes the other hunters over his own son but Dean knows Sam would never lie but thinks that maybe his brother is just confused about the events that took place. Sam feels betrayed by his family and in the meantime, the other hunters decide that another 'accident' is in order to keep the youngest Winchester from convincing his family of the truth.

"This bastard's not going to go down without a fight," Nadine Townsend told the Winchesters sitting with her in a quiet coffee shop in Washington State.

"Charlie and I have been tracking it for almost a week but the woods are just too big for us," She continued, picking up her mug of coffee and taking a sip.

John nodded, "I'm glad you called me. I've hunted my fair share of Black Dogs; they can be a pain in the ass for even veteran hunters."

Nadine lifted an eyebrow, "It's not like Charlie and I are new to this, Winchester."

"How many Black Dogs have you killed?" Dean spoke up from where he sat beside his brother.

Nadine said nothing.

"Thought so," the young man smirked.

Sam looked down at the map Nadine had brought with her, in red she had circled all the spots the Black Dog had taken a victim and in black, where the beast had last been sighted.

"It seems like the Dog is staying close to this area here," Sam said and pointed at the eastern edge of the park.

"It's close to the campgrounds but far enough away from the road," Sam continued.

"Hm," Nadine muttered, "Smart kid. How old are you anyway, ten?"

Sam glanced up and frowned, "I'm fourteen."

Dean put an arm around his brother, "He's just a midget."

Sam shoved Dean away, "I am not!"

"Enough boys," John warned and the brothers fell silent.

The eldest Winchester stood, "It'll probably be out again tonight, we should all get prepared."

Nadine nodded and grabbed the map, folding it neatly and slipping it into her purse, "We can meet at the entrance to the campground and go from there as soon as it gets dark."

"C'mon boys," John said and his sons followed him out of the coffee shop.

"This is so cool!" Dean exclaimed; the Winchesters rarely teamed-up with other hunters, "And that Nadine chick wasn't too hard on the eyes either."

Sam sighed in exasperation and Dean chuckled, "Don't worry, Sammy, soon enough you'll start noticing girls too."

The fourteen-year old scowled, "Hopefully not the ones you hang out with."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, "What's wrong with the girls I date?"

The look Sam gave his brother asked, 'Do I really have to answer that?'

"Boys! Enough! We have a job to do. Focus on that," John reprimanded.

"Sorry Sir," Dean apologized.

"Yeah," Sam muttered.

The small family climbed into the Impala and headed back to their motel room, their thoughts turning towards the hunt.

SPN

"Sam, you go with Nadine and Charlie," John ordered as the group stood at the entrance to the park, the sun a thin yellow line on the horizon.

"Dean, you're with me," he finished.

Charlie and Nadine didn't look too happy to have Sam going with them.

"Why do with get the shrimp?" Charlie asked John- he was younger then the eldest Winchester but it was obvious he worked-out- as he pointed at Sam.

"You two know these woods better than we do and Sam has a good idea of where the Black Dog will be," John explained calmly.

"What about you?" Charlie asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Make sure nothing sneaks up on you," was John's simple answer.

"If there's a problem, use the walkie-talkie," he told them.

Charlie glanced at Sam skeptically, "Just don't slow us down, Kid."

Sam shook his head. Despite what Nadine and Charlie might think, Sam had hunted before; he knew what to do.

He looked over his shoulder at his brother as he followed the two older hunters into the woods.

"Stay safe," Dean called as he slipped through the trees.

W

Sam stepped lightly; his eyes keen for any shadow that moved suddenly.

That was the thing about Black Dogs; they were difficult as hell to track because their dark fur blended in perfectly to the nighttime forests where they usually hunted. Their lemon-yellow eyes also gave them away but by the time a person was close enough to see them, they were done for anyway.

Luckily Black Dogs, like werewolves, could be killed with silver bullets.

Nadine and Charlie walked ahead, shotguns ready. While Sam's footfalls were nearly noiseless, the two older hunters seemed to step on every twig they could find.

"You shouldn't be so loud," Sam whispered, "We're trying to catch the Black Dog by surprise, not the other way around."

Nadine lifted an eyebrow but made an attempt to quiet her footsteps. Charlie glared at the teen, "I don't need a ten-year old telling me how to do my job!"

"I'm fourteen," Sam corrected and froze at the sound of a branch breaking somewhere off to his right.

The walkie-talkie Charlie held crackled to life, "That was me. Keep going."

Sam smiled; glad to hear his brother's voice even though he couldn't see Dean.

W

They walked for an hour with no signs of the Black Dog at all when Charlie paused.

"This is the edge of its territory," he said, consulting the map to be certain.

"Maybe its closer to the campsites," Sam suggested.

"The kid has a point," Nadine said, "No one should be out this far so why would the Dog stick around."

Charlie nodded and lifted the walkie-talkie, "The Black Dog isn't here, John. What do you want to do?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment before Sam's father spoke, "Let's head back, we may be able to meet it halfway."

Sam relaxed somewhat. Now Dean and their Dad would be in point with him, Charlie and Nadine bringing up the rear.

Although Sam knew how to shoot, he had never hunted a Black Dog but if they were as fast as werewolves he felt better knowing his Dad was taking the lead.

Nadine and Charlie walked side by side, leaving Sam to bring up the rear unprotected.

The teen trotted to keep up with the older hunters as they quickly left him behind.

"Wait!" Sam hissed but Nadine and Charlie either ignored or didn't hear him.

Soon Sam couldn't see the two hunters at all as he carefully picked his way through the trees, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He had no walkie-talkie so he couldn't contact his father or brother.

Okay, Sam thought, don't panic. You've been in the woods by yourself.

And he had, but it had been the copse of trees behind Bobby's property and not hundreds of acres of national park.

Despite his training, Sam's fight or flight instinct kicked in and he ran in the direction he had seen Nadine and Charlie walk.

SPN

Dean didn't like the idea of Sam going off alone with the other hunters. He couldn't protect his brother when they were separated like this.

He said nothing to John though, knowing his father would tell him that Sam needed to learn to hunt with others, not just them.

But he's only fourteen, Dean thought as he followed John through the quiet woods, and we've never worked with those two before.

Dean sighed and pushed aside his worry. He needed to focus on the task at hand- find and kill the Black Dog.

SPN

Sam felt relief wash over him as he caught sight of Charlie and Nadine just ahead.

The two hunters turned, irritated looks on their faces, "The hell you doing, kid? You want to lead that beast straight to us?"

Sam shook his head as he approached them, "Y-You left me back th-there."

"It's not our fault you have such short legs," Charlie commented.

Sam frowned, "We're supposed to be a team. That means we work together and stick together."

"Aww did the baby get scared of the dark," Charlie mocked, Nadine laughing along.

"Don't tell us how to hunt, kid," the woman said, "We've been doing it a lot longer than you."

Sam doubted that since the two could barely manage to be quiet. He opened his mouth to say so when he heard a soft growl come from behind him.

He met Nadine's eyes, "I think it's behind me."

Sam spoke, hardly moving his lips; something John had taught him and shifted slightly away from where he had heard the sound to give the other hunters a clearer area to shoot.

Both Nadine and Charlie raised their shotguns and waited.

The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood like it did whenever he was being watched and he stopped breathing.

Although he couldn't see the Black Dog, Sam could almost sense its approach.

"Shoot it," Sam mouthed desperately.

Still Nadine and Charlie waited.

Sam's heart jackhammered with fear and his blood ran cold.

Suddenly the walkie-talkie crackled to life and the Black Dog pounced.

Sam cried out as he felt paws the size of dinner plates slam into his back and he fell to the ground, trying to roll out from under the monster as he did so.

The weight of the Black Dog was immense and Sam lay paralyzed beneath it, the monster's rank breath hot against the back of his neck.

He cried out again, the sound muffled as his face was pressed against the forest floor, sticks cutting his skin and jabbing at his eyes.

Sam felt strong jaws wrap around his head, pain bloomed, spreading through his body and he lost consciousness.

SPN

Nadine stared, stunned as the Black Dog leaped at John Winchester's youngest son, bringing him to the ground.

Until now she had only caught glimpses of the beast but now that it was right in front of her, she was shocked.

It was huge! Its black fur blending in perfectly with the shadows surrounding it, making it difficult for the human eye to focus on it- it almost seemed to be made of undulating, shifting shadows itself. The Black Dog's yellow eyes shone with sulfuric light in the darkness.

She watched, horrified as the monster lowered its jaws and gripped the teen's head between its jagged teeth.

That was when Charlie shot it. The bullet hit the Black Dog's shoulder and the monster stumbled, releasing the boy as it did so.

The child fell limply to the ground. Nadine could see his head already slick with blood.

Before the beast could attack again, Charlie fired another round. This one was more accurate, plunging into the Dog's chest.

The monster staggered forward two steps before it collapsed, groaning.

Charlie walked up to it and fired again and the Black Dog lay still.

"What's going on? Is everyone okay?" John's voice called over the walkie-talkie.

Nadine grabbed the device and spoke into it, "We're fine."

Charlie took the walkie-talkie from her, "Sam's hurt bad."

He heard the father swear before speaking to him again, "We'll be right there. Stay put."

"Got it," Charlie said and lowered the walkie-talkie.

He glanced at Nadine, "We can't tell them we didn't shoot the damn thing; John would kill us."

His girlfriend looked at the boy lying on the ground. Neither of them made a move to help the child.

"Sam got excited, wanted to be the hero," Nadine said slowly, "We tried to stop him but he ran off towards the beast. It attacked before we could do anything."

Charlie nodded his approval and approached the boy. Slipping his jacket off, he folded it and placed it beneath Sam's head.

"Do you think he'll make it?" Nadine asked and Charlie shrugged, "It's hard to tell how much damage was done."

The sound of crashing through the trees alerted the two hunters to the arrival of the Winchesters.

Dean's face blanched at the sight of his brother and John's expression hardened.

"What happened?" he asked Charlie, stepping very close to the other hunter, invading his personal space.

"Kid saw the Black Dog and went after it," he explained, "I guess he was excited. We tried to stop him but by the time we reached him, the beast had already attacked."

"We told him not to go after it on his own," Nadine chimed in, "But he ignored us. He said he knew what he was doing… oh, the poor baby!"

"Dad! We've gotta get Sammy out of here," Dean spoke up, cradling his brother to his chest, his face haggard.

John looked down at the dead Black Dog and nodded, "Let's get out of here."

SPN

Dean walked carefully through the forest, his burden precious.

Even in the dark he knew Sam had been hurt badly. He could feel warm blood seeping through his jacket and he clutched Sam even tighter to his chest.

Dean thought back to what Charlie and Nadine had said happened, that Sam had gone after the Black Dog on his own.

And Dean couldn't believe it.

Sam would never be that reckless.

Something was wrong about the whole situation.

They'd have to get Sam's side of the story as soon as he was safely in a hospital bed.

As they approached the cars, John shook Charlie's hand, "Thanks for your help."

The other hunter shook his head, "No, thank you. We couldn't have beaten this thing without you and your family. Hopefully Sam's alright."

Dean gave the couple the cold shoulder. He climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala without saying a word to them.

SPN

"He could die," Nadine said from the passenger seat of their car.

Charlie glanced at his girlfriend. Now that the excitement and adrenaline was wearing off he was beginning to feel guilty. If he had acted soon, if he hadn't just stood there like an idiot, he could have prevented a child from becoming hurt.

"There's still a chance he could survive," Charlie replied.

Nadine's eyes widened, "Charlie! What if he tells John what really happened?!"

Charlie shrugged, "We told him our side, Nadine. We should be fine."

Nadine didn't look convinced, "No, we have to go to the hospital. We need to make sure John believes us. You said it yourself, if he finds out what really happened, he'll kill us."

Charlie bit his lip, thinking.

Sure, he'd told a little white lie to point the finger at someone other than himself and Nadine but that had been in the spur of the moment. Now, telling John an outright lie, laying the blame on his son- who may or may not survive- didn't seem right.

Then again, John Winchester was legendary for his temper and his ability to hold a grudge. Charlie did not want to be the target of that man's rage if he found out the truth.

"Alright," Charlie said, "But we're only going to stick with our story. That's it."

Nadine didn't say anything as her boyfriend pulled a U-Turn and headed towards the hospital.

SPN

Dean watched helplessly as Sam was taken from him and rushed through a set of double doors and out of sight.

He felt John's hand on his shoulder and sank into a plastic waiting room chair, completely drained.

John walked over to the nurses' station to get the paperwork he needed to fill out and returned to Dean's side.

He looked up when the Emergency entrance's sliding doors opened and Nadine and Charlie stepped inside.

W

Dean listened to Charlie and Nadine as they recounted the events that led to Sam's being checked into the hospital and despite his earlier suspicions; he began to believe the two hunters.

Maybe Sam had gone after the Black Dog by himself. He never thought he was good enough for John; he was always trying to prove himself as a hunter.

Maybe he had tried to show that he could be the hunter his father wanted him to be. Sam might be the more cautious of the two brothers but he was also the more stubborn one.

It didn't take much to imagine his baby brother charging at the Black Dog, thinking only of making their father proud.

W

Dean looked up expectantly when a doctor stepped into the room. There was no one else waiting for news of family members so the man walked right up to them.

"Sam Winchester?" he asked and nodded when John told him that they were his father and brother.

"Is he okay, Doc?" Dean asked anxiously.

"Thankfully, yes," the doctor said and Dean felt his knees go weak with relief.

"That cougar did a number on his though, he continued seriously, "I'd advise against nighttime hikes in the area again."

Dean nodded, recognizing the animal attack John usually used instead of a supernatural one.

"Your son lost a lot of blood but he's receiving more as we speak," the doctor informed them.

"The gashes on his head are stitched but I have to tell you that they are deep and will scar. Sam also has some superficial cuts on his face that we cleaned; those should heal without leaving any marks. There is also bruising on Sam's back and cuts there that needed to be stitched as well."

"Frankly, I'm amazed that he came out of that encounter as he did," the doctor confessed, "It could have been much worse."

John nodded, his lips thin.

"Can we see him?" Dean asked anxiously.

The doctor nodded, "He's been sedated for the pain but he is awake so you can talk to him if you like."

The two older Winchesters followed the doctor down the hall towards Sam's room.

The man opened a door at the end of the hallway and ushered the Winchesters inside.

Dean frowned when he saw Sam. His brother was sitting up in the hospital bed, his head wrapped in clean white bandages.

Sam looked up when John and Dean stepped inside, his eyes glassy and his expression pleasantly vacant.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Dean approached the bed and sat down on the visitor's chair.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

Sam grinned, "Great."

Dean couldn't' help but smirk, "That's because the doctor's got you on the good stuff."

Sam nodded slowly and then looked at John.

"Is it dead?" he asked vaguely.

John inclined his head, "It's dead."

Sam didn't say anything for a moment, "I couldn't breathe. It was crushing me. And they wouldn't shoot."

"What?" Dean asked and leaned forward.

Sam blinked owlishly at him, "Why's your shirt red?"

Dean glanced down and he saw the bloodstains on his jacket.

"Why don't you try and get some rest, Sammy," he suggested, "We'll be here when you wake up."

Sam closed his eyes as if on command and sighed, falling asleep quickly.

Dean looked up at John, "He's really out of it."

W

Dean peered over as the door slowly opened and Nadine peeked into the room.

"Can we come in?" she asked and John nodded.

The two hunters entered, shutting the door quietly behind them and looked down at the sleeping fourteen-year old.

"Has he said anything?" Nadine asked curiously.

"A little. It didn't really make sense though," Dean answered.

"He'll be able to tell us what the hell he was thinking as soon as the sedation wears off a bit," John added.

Nadine nodded, sharing a look with Charlie.

"Let us know when he's awake," she said and took her boyfriend's arm, leading him out of the room after her.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes to a splitting headache. He groaned and closed them again.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean's voice said softly, coming from right beside him.

"Head," Sam said through clenched teeth, "Hurts."

"Yeah, getting it chewed up by a Black Dog will do that," Dean replied, "I'll let a nurse know you need some more pain meds."

"Kay," Sam replied.

"Sam," John's voice broke in an the teen flinched, "Care to explain what you were thinking, going after that Black Dog by yourself?"

Sam frowned; he didn't go after the Black Dog at all! It ambushed them!

"Didn't," Sam said, "It… got me."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Black Dog snuck up on us… It was behind me."

"And then you decided to chase after it," John finished, his tone irritated.

"No," Sam replied, "No…"

"Hold on, Sammy," Dean interjected and Sam opened his eyes slightly to see a nurse enter the room.

She stepped up beside Sam's bed and inserted a needle into the IV line attached to the back of Sam's hand.

"That should make you feel better soon, dear," she said in a kindly voice and smiled at the small family before leaving the room.

"Sam?" Dean said, "You still with us?"

The meds were already working. Sam could feel the pain melting away. He sighed and opened his eyes all the way.

Dean had a bewildered expression on his face and his Dad just looked angry.

"Keep going, Sammy," Dean coaxed, "What do you remember?"

"The Black Dog… it hit me in the back," Sam said, "And I fell."

"Why would you go after something so dangerous on your own, Sam? You know better!" John growled and Sam frowned.

"I didn't have time to run after it… It hit me… they didn't shoot it."

"Wait, you mean Charlie and Nadine didn't shoot the monster when it attacked you?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"I… I remember I told them to shoot it but they just stood there."

Dean shook his head; "You've got it wrong, Sammy. They killed it."

Sam squinted at his brother, "They must have after it bit me. I don't remember… after that."

Dean and John looked at one another.

"He's clearly confused," John said as though Sam wasn't in the room.

"I know what happened," Sam argued.

"Sam, Nadine and Charlie said you ran after the Black Dog and it attacked you then. They tried to stop you but you didn't listen," Dean reminded him.

"That's not what happened, Dean," Sam said, "I wouldn't do that!"

Dean glanced at the heart monitor, "Calm down, Sammy, its alright."

"No, its not! I didn't do that!" Sam growled, the heart monitor pinging madly.

"Sam, we'll deal with this later," John told him, "Right now you have to rest."

"Deal with what?! I didn't do it!" Sam almost yelled.

The door to the room opened again and the same nurse stepped inside with another needle, "I'm sorry, you'll have to leave."

"What are you doing?" Sam asked as the nurse inserted the syringe into the IV line.

"It's just a sedative, sweetheart," she answered, "To help you sleep."

"But… I don't…" Sam stammered, fighting against the fast-acting drug.

Dean and John stood and left the room, both shocked that Sam would blatantly lie about what had happened.

The two eldest Winchesters made their way towards the cafeteria for some coffee while they waited for Sam to calm down.

SPN

Nadine fiddled with the tag on her teabag, not drinking the beverage.

"Stop that," Charlie hissed.

"He'll tell them what really happened, Charlie," she said, "And what if they believe him."

Her boyfriend shook his head, "They won't."

Nadine sighed, "I hope you're right."

Charlie looked up, gaze focused at something behind Nadine, "Speak of the devil."

She turned in her seat and saw John and Dean approaching.

"How is he?" Charlie asked, feigning concern.

"Confused," John answered, "He had it in his head that he never ran after that Black Dog. Said that it attacked him."

Charlie frowned, "Maybe he has a concussion, that could be screwing with his memory."

John shook his head, "Doctor didn't mention one."

Nadine tensed, "So what do you think?"

The father turned his intense gaze on her, "I think he's trying to lie so that he won't get into trouble."

Nadine relaxed. Good, John didn't believe his kid.

She looked at Charlie, "Don't be too hard on him, John, he's just a kid."

The father frowned, "That was a damn stupid thing to do; he needs to learn he can't be pulling off stunts like that. It'll not only get him killed but someone else."

Dean, who had been quiet the entire time, spoke up, "Did you run after Sammy right away?"

Nadine turned to the young man, "Yes, of course."

Dean didn't reply.

The woman frowned at the eighteen-year old. Was he trying to figure out the time elapsed? There was no way he could prove that they hadn't run after Sam instantly.

Their lie was foolproof. Except of course, for one small, matter.

Sam knew the truth.

SPN

Sam sat up in his hospital bed, thinking.

He remembered everything that had happened during the Black Dog attack. He recalled the feeling of its paws hitting his back and its breath on his neck. He knew that Charlie and Nadine had not shot at the creature before he'd blacked out. Although his blood was pounding in his ears, he was certain they had been close enough that he'd be able to hear gunfire over the sound of his terrified heartbeat.

Why didn't his Dad and brother believe him? Why would they take the word of a couple of hunters they had just met? Sam sighed sadly; he didn't know what to do. He could keep telling the truth, even if they thought he was lying. He decided that he would never, ever work with any other hunters but Dean and his Dad and Uncle Bobby. He clearly couldn't trust anyone else. He just wished his family believed him.

Sam looked up when the door opened, expecting his father and Dean but instead saw Nadine.

"What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"To see how you were doing," she answered, closing the door behind her- and locking it- before stepping forward.

"You almost got me killed!" Sam exclaimed, "Why didn't you shoot it? Why did you lie?"

Nadine shrugged, "Your father has quite the reputation, kid. He doesn't forgive or forget. If he knew the truth, he'd hunt us down."

"Why didn't you shoot?" Sam asked again, watching Nadine warily.

"The truth? I was scared. I froze. I know, a rookie thing to do but you'd have pissed yourself too if you'd seen the Black Dog."

"It could have killed me. Don't you care?" Sam asked, the idea that a hunter- a woman- could be so callous and self-centered stunned him.

"It would have been tragic, yes," Nadine said, "But hunters die all the time. I just didn't want me to be one of them."

She stepped up right beside Sam's bed, "Here, let me fix your pillow."

"Don't-" Sam began but Nadine grabbed the pillow from under him and his back hit the not-so-soft hospital mattress.

Sam hissed in pain and gasped as he saw the pillow descending towards his face. He raised his hands to fend off the attack but he was too weak and suddenly he couldn't breathe, the soft fabric covering his entire face.

SPN

Dean tossed his paper coffee cup in the trash and stood.

"I'm going to see Sammy, you want to come?" he asked his father.

John shook his head, "I think I'll stay here for a while."

Dean shrugged and left the cafeteria. The PA system buzzed to life, a female voice calling out "Code Blue, room 121. Code Blue."

Room 121? That was Sam's room!

Dean's blood ran cold and he began running down the hall, ignoring nurses and patients he almost hit as he hurried to reach his brother.

"Sammy!" he shouted and saw a commotion in front of the room. Sam's doctor and four nurses stood before the door, working the handle uselessly.

"It's locked!" the doctor shouted and one of the nurses ran down the hall towards the Emergency waiting room.

Dean pushed his way past the medical personnel and tried the doorknob himself- it remained locked- before backing up and charging at the door.

The door shook in its hinges but didn't open. Dean's shoulder screamed in pain but he didn't stop, backing up again, he charged the door again.

The nurses and doctor didn't move. They all stood back, staring at the young man in shock.

On the third attempt, the door creaked and Dean tried the handle, it opened!

Rushing into the room, Dean didn't have time to process the scene before him as he grabbed Nadine by the hair and yanked her away from his brother.

The female hunter took the pillow with her as Dean dragged her across the room, revealing Sam, his skin chalky white, his lips blue.

The doctor and nurses rushed into the room and began working to save the teen.

Nadine ripped her hair from Dean's grasp and threw the pillow at him.

Dean blocked the projectile but his distraction gave Nadine time to slip out the door.

Dean tore out of the room after the woman and chased her down the hallway; Nadine screamed as he tackled her.

A security guard, called because of Dean's violence against the door, approached the pair.

"She tried to kill my brother!" Dean snarled as he pulled Nadine's hands behind her.

"I couldn't let him tell you the truth!" Nadine shrieked, "I couldn't let him live!"

The guard grabbed the hysterical woman and handcuffed her, guiding her down the hallway.

Dean was just about to return to Sam's room when he saw John.

"The hell is going on? Who's screaming?" the hunter asked, confused.

"Nadine," Dean explained breathlessly, "She tried to smother Sam with a pillow."

"She what?" John asked, shocked, eyes going wide.

"His room was locked and they called that Code Blue," Dean continued, "It was Nadine. She said she didn't want him telling us the truth."

John frowned but then a look of realization dawned on his haggard features.

"Oh my God," he whispered, "Sam wasn't lying."

Both Winchesters ran down the hall towards Sam's room, ducking into the room.

The doctor looked up and smiled, "He's going to be okay."

Dean saw that Sam was breathing- the heart monitor once again beeping rhythmically- and that his face was already regaining its colour.

The medical staff exited the room quietly, satisfied looks on their faces.

Dean approached the bed and laid a hand on his sibling's brow.

"Sammy," he whispered, feeling tears well up in his eyes, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I'm sorry I thought you'd lie about something like that. Please forgive me."

John approached the bed and stared down sadly at his youngest son, the child he'd nearly lost because of his own pride and stubbornness.

"Forgive me, son," he said, clearing his throat, to try and stop from crying.

The two eldest Winchesters stared down at their youngest and could have sworn that Sam was smiling.


	11. An Ounce Of Prevention Is Worth A Pound Of Cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from rhinogirl: Wee!Chester. Dean doesn't do a chore so Sam does it instead, getting hurt in the process. Worse, John walks in on Dean trying to patch Sam up to avoid detection. Set after Sam finds out about monsters but he has not started to hunt yet.

"Bye, Dad," Sam muttered as John walked toward the door of their motel room.

"I should only be gone a couple of days," the father said and Sam tried not to roll his eyes.

A couple of days could turn into a week or two unexpectedly, leaving his sons, nine and thirteen, to take care of themselves.

"Dean, I need you to clean the guns while I'm gone, can you do that?" John asked, peering across the room at his eldest who sat watching television. The creature John was after couldn't be killed with rock salt or bullets so the eldest Winchester had decided to keep his duffle full of guns with his sons. 

"Sure Dad," Dean answered somewhat distractedly.

John nodded, "Be good you two, don't get into trouble."

Sam watched sadly as his father walked out the door, knowing that this time, he might not return.

It had only been a couple of months since Sam had snuck a peek at John's journal and found out what his father really did (and found out what was really out there). At first John had been livid by the fact that his son had intentionally been prying in his private things but then he cooled down a bit, accepting that Sam would have to find out about monsters some time anyway. He had decided to have Sam start training, learning the basic self-defense techniques that could mean the difference between life and death in the future.

Sam hated it. He was awful at training. Dean was far better than him and Sam always ended up covered in scrapes and bruises. He hated a look in disappointment in his Dad's eyes whenever he failed to fend off Dean's attacks.

But John was gone and that meant that they could get away with slacking off a bit. Of course he'd want to see what they'd been doing while he was gone but they wouldn't have to spar for hours at a time with no breaks.

That was the only good thing about John leaving for 'business'.

Sam never felt quite safe anymore, without John around, knowing what kind of creatures roamed outside. Sure, he had Dean, but he was still a kid too. If monsters could get Mom, they could get Dad and if they got John Winchester than they would certainly be able to get Dean.

"You going to stare at the door until he comes back or do you want to watch TV?" Dean asked, bringing Sam out of his thoughts.

Sam sighed and sat down on the end of his bed, facing the old bunny-eared television.

W

Sam looked up from his homework later that evening to see Dean lying on his stomach on his bed, his attention focused on a Steven Segal movie that had just started.

"Shouldn't you clean the guns?" Sam asked his brother.

"I'll do it later," Dean answered without taking his gaze away from the TV screen, "Dad won't be back for a while so they can wait."

W

"C'mon short stuff," Dean announced, waking Sam the next morning, "School's waiting."

The nine-year old sat up and rubbed his eyes. He saw the gun duffel sitting on the floor where it had been the night before.

"Did you clean the guns?" he asked his sibling as he stretched and stood.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean answered sarcastically, pouring Lucky Charms into two bowls for breakfast, "I did it last night while you were asleep, like the shoemaker's elves."

Sam scowled at his brother, "You should do it before Dad gets back."

Dean rolled his eyes, "I will. But right now we have to get ready for school."

W

Dean still hadn't touched the guns by the time evening came.

"Dean, shouldn't you-" Sam began as the thirteen-year old climbed into bed.

"If you're so obsessed with cleaning the guns, why don't you do it?" Dean snapped, "Get off my back. I'm going to bed."

Sam stared at his sibling, taken aback by the outburst.

He hadn't meant to make Dean angry. He just didn't want his brother to get into trouble if their Dad came home and found that the one chore he'd asked Dean to do unfinished.

Dean turned off the light and Sam laid down, eyes open in the darkened motel room.

W

Sam didn't mention the guns the next morning as he and Dean got ready for school. He didn't say anything as they walked there either, or when Dean checked on him at recess, or on the way home again.

Dean made chicken noodle soup and tuna sandwiches for dinner, he did his homework (even though he complained about it) and then he settled down to watch some television before bed.

The gun duffle remained where John had left it, untouched and forgotten.

"Okay Squirt," Dean announced around eight-thirty, "Go brush your teeth."

Sam hopped down from his bed and made his way to the bathroom.

As he brushed his teeth, he listened to Dean as his brother turned off the television and walked across the room, "Hurry up in there, Sammy! Quit hogging the water!"

The nine-year old chuckled and finished his nighttime routine, stepping out of the bathroom.

He climbed into bed and closed his eyes but didn't fall asleep. Sam listened as his brother got ready for bed and waited until he heard Dean's breathing become slow and even.

Sitting up, Sam peered over at his sleeping sibling. Something Dean had said earlier had given him an idea.

Climbing out of bed, the nine-year old tiptoed across the room to where the gun duffel was. Sam unzipped the bag and smiled. He'd clean the guns while Dean was asleep, just like the elves in the story about the shoemaker.

Dragging the heavy duffel across the room to the small table near the front door, Sam took a seat, turned on the lamp sitting on the tabletop and bent down, picking up the first gun.

It was a pistol. He held it in his hand for a moment, marveling at how heavy it was. He'd seen guns on TV and in books but he'd never actually held one before. John didn't think he was ready to start training with them just yet. He wanted Sam to master hand-to-hand combat and self-defense first.

Sam saw a cloth sitting in the bag so he picked it up and began polishing the weapon.

W

BANG!

Dean startled awake at the sound of the loud sound and peered around bleary-eyed.

"Sammy? You okay?" he asked tiredly.

Had Sam run into a piece of furniture on his way to the bathroom?

No, a light was on; Sam should have been able to see where he was going.

Dean turned and saw that the bathroom door was left ajar, its interior dark.

Sam wasn't in the bathroom, so where was h-

Oh my God!

"Sammy!" Dean leaped out of bed, his blood running cold and his heart nearly stopping in his chest.

The nine-year old lay sprawled on the motel carpet, eyes closed, his head surrounded by a growing pool of blood.

Dean dropped onto his hands and knees before staggering into a standing position and rushing to his brother's side.

He caught sight of the gun duffel on the floor beside his brother and a gun laying a few inches from his sibling's hand.

"Sam? Sammy? Can you hear me?" Dean asked as he sidled up to his brother's side.

Dean's heart skipped a beat when the boy blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused and watery.

"Dee," he whimpered.

"The hell were you thinking?" Dean asked and lifted Sam's head.

He could see a gash above Sam's temple that was weeping blood freely. Looking behind him, Dean caught sight of a neat bullet hole in the plaster of the motel wall.

Dean sighed, his limbs watery with relief. A few more centimeters and Sam would have been dead.

The nine-year old began to cry, frightened and in pain.

"Okay Sammy," Dean murmured, helping his brother to sit up, "We'll get you fixed up."

Picking up his injured sibling, Dean headed into the bathroom, turned on the light and sat Sam down on the closed lid of the toilet.

He grabbed a washcloth and ran warm water over it.

"Shh," Dean murmured, "It's okay."

He wondered if Sam would need stitches. If he did, Dean hoped he'd be able to do them himself. He did not want to have to walk his brother to the hospital.

This wouldn't have happened if you'd just cleaned the guns like Dad told you to, Dean thought guiltily. His heart rate sped up; if Dad found out that Sam had been trying to clean the guns and had gotten hurt because he couldn't be bothered to do it earlier…

"Dad's gonna kill me," he muttered to himself.

Not if I patch Sammy up and make him swear not to tell Dad the truth; Dean thought. Dad doesn't have to know. We could say Sam got hurt on the playground. Yeah, that could work.

Dean wrung the cloth out and held it up to the cut on Sam's head.

"Don' Dee," Sam protested but Dean put his free hand on the back of his brother's head.

"I have to clean it, Sam," Dean told him and gently wiped at the area around the gash, trying to assess how bad it was.

"What were you doing Sam? I said I would clean the guns," Dean asked, trying not to be angry with his sibling.

"W-Was trying to s-surprise you," Sam confessed.

"You know better than to touch those guns, Sam," Dean chastised, "You're not old enough."

"Ow!" Sam cried when Dean dabbed at the cut itself, "I w-was trying to b-be careful."

Dean sighed, "I gotta put stitches in Sammy."

The nine-year old looked at his brother with round eyes.

"No Dean!" he exclaimed and struggled to get off the toilet seat.

"Sam, stop!" Dean grabbed his brother around the waist.

Both brothers stopped struggling when the door to the motel opened.

"Boys, I'm back," John called out tiredly.

Neither Sam nor Dean moved or said anything. Both boys listened as their father's footsteps came closer.

"Dean, what… why is there blood?" John's voice asked and he hurried to the bathroom.

The eldest Winchester's haggard face turned red with anger as he took in the scene before him.

"What the hell happened?!" he exclaimed.

Sam, still stunned by the accident, began to cry again and struggled in Dean's arms.

"I- I can explain, Dad," Dean grunted as he held onto his brother, "It was an accident."

"Let me go, Dean!" Sam demanded and pushed his brother's chest.

John stepped into the small bathroom and picked up his youngest, disentangling the two boys.

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the gash on Sam's head and he nearly glared at Dean.

"What kind of accident?" he asked.

Dean swallowed thickly.

"Uh… I… well…" the thirteen-year old stammered, terrified.

"Dean didn't clean the guns," Sam spoke up tearfully, "So I wanted to help him and tried to clean 'em by myself."

John's mouth opened in shock.

"What have I told you about touching the weapons, Sam?"

The nine-year old sniffed and looked down, "Don't touch them."

"And where were you?" John turned his attention back to Dean.

"Sleeping, Sir," Dean muttered.

John set Sam down on the tiled floor of the bathroom, "Dean, get the First Aid kit."

The thirteen-year old jumped at the order and left the bathroom, his face flushed red with shame.

He should have known better. He should have done his job instead of slacking off. If he had, Sam wouldn't have been hurt and their Dad wouldn't be pissed at the both of them.

Dean grabbed the kit from his father's duffel and handed it to his Dad. John took the white, plastic box from his son.

"I'm not finished with you," he said before closing the bathroom door.

Dean sat down on the edge of his brother's bed- the one closest to the bathroom- and tried to imagine how he was going to be punished for nearly getting his little brother killed.

He could hear his father talking to Sam in the bathroom but his voice was muffled and Dean couldn't make out any words.

The door opened and Sam stepped into the room, face pale and tear-streaked, a white patch of gauze taped to the side of his head to cover the stitches.

John followed after his youngest, carrying the kit with him.

"Sam, go to bed," he told the nine-year old and the boy nodded, climbing onto the mattress and pulling the covers over his head.

"Dean," John said, "Come here."

The thirteen-year old jumped off his brother's bed and approached his father.

"Sit down," John gestured at the table. Dean sat at Sam's vacated seat.

"I want you to clean the guns- properly- and then you'll clean up the rest of the mess," John told him, pointing down at the bloodstained carpeting.

"Yes Sir," Dean muttered.

John took a seat across from his eldest and watched as Dean started to take apart the gun Sam had been attempting to clean.

Neither Winchester said anything for a long moment.

Dean didn't dare look up at his father, knowing he'd only be met with a disapproving glare.

"I'm not going to punish you further than this," John told him, "Do you know why?"

Dean shrugged, concentrating on carefully cleaning the inside of the gun barrel.

"Your actions nearly cost Sam his life," John continued, "I think you know just how close we came to losing him because of your negligence tonight."

"Yes Sir," Dean whispered.

"I don't see any point in making you feel worse than you already do," John said, "Next time when I tell you to do something, you'll do it right away, won't you?"

Dean nodded frantically, looking up at his father with wide eyes. He had nearly gotten his brother killed and if he had… it would have been all his fault.

"Good," John said, "When you're finished you can go to bed."

The eldest Winchester leaned back in his chair, continuing to observe his son.

On the bed across the room, Sam slept fitfully, not fully comprehending just how close he had come to death and not knowing how very lucky he really was.


	12. We Were Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Samgirl19: The brothers are on a hunt and Sam is thrown into a wall and knocked unconscious. Dean rushes his brother to the hospital where Sam wakes up with memory loss and confusion. Set after Season 9, Episode 10 "Road Trip".

"This is stupid," Dean complained as he swept his flashlight around the dusty sitting room, "We're wasting our time."

Sam, standing a few feet away from him, frowned, "Oh, so now saving people is a waste of time?"

Dean scowled, "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Sam lowered his gun, "What do you mean, Dean?"

The older Winchester sneered, "We should be tracking down Abbadon, We should be trying to stop her from taking over the whole freakin' planet."

Sam sighed in exasperation, "That'd be great. If we could find her."

"If we were back at the bunker we would find her," Dean argued and continued scanning the room for any sign of the ghost they were hunting.

"Just because Abbadon is our top priority doesn't mean other monsters aren't out there killing people," Sam informed his brother in a know-it-all tone.

"Whatever, Sam," Dean brushed him off, "The sooner we gank this poltergeist the sooner we can get back to finding Pippi Longstocking from Hell."

Sam shook his head and walked away from Dean, tired of arguing.

"I'm going to check upstairs," he called to his brother and although there was no reply, he was certain Dean had heard and just wasn't talking to him.

That was fine with Sam. He didn't really want to talk to Dean either.

The wooden stairs creaked underneath Sam's weight but held.

He carefully made his way up to the second floor, muscles tense in anticipation of any unexpected surprises.

SPN

Dean had had just about enough of Sam's shit.

It was frustrating as hell having his brother give him the silent treatment half the time while the other half Sam spent arguing with him every step of the way.

They needed to stop Abbadon by any means necessary, even if they had to team up with the likes of Crowley to do it.

If it got the job done and the bitch was dead at the end of the day, did they have a right to complain?

Seeing nothing in the sitting room, Dean decided to investigate the kitchen.

The ghost they were hunting- a woman named Hortense Plummer- had been murdered by her unfaithful husband when she discovered his infidelity. The house had sat empty for many years before being bought by a couple interested in renovating it. The first construction crew though, had been run out of the building, terrified and claiming to have seen the apparition of a bloodstained woman.

The second crew refused to return to the residence after one man was found dead in the house one morning, riddled with nails from an electric nail gun.

After that the couple had put the house up for sale. It remained on the market for a long time, a hotspot for teenagers seeking a cheap thrill. Three more deaths occurred within the building, all males.

It was clear that Hortense was angry with any man who entered her home, possibly using them as surrogates for her own murderous husband.

Sam had found the case and convinced Dean that they needed to look into it.

Now Dean was regretting his decision to come along.

The kitchen was as empty as the sitting room had been.

He should just get Sam and go back to the bunker. Let some other hunter deal with the small fry.

W

Dean looked up when there came an almighty crash from above, the ceiling shook and dust showered down on top of him.

"Shit," he swore and tore out of the kitchen, heading towards the staircase.

Of course Sam would be the one to find the pissed off spirit.

Dean ran up the stairs, taking two at a time and stared at the long hallway before him. Doors on either side of the hall opened and slammed shut repeated of their own accord, disorienting the hunter.

Where was Sam?

A second crash came from the room at the end of the hallway and Dean ran forwards, wondering what in God's name was happening to his brother.

Dean gripped the doorframe as he passed to stop his own momentum and stared into the bedroom in shock.

A heavy-looking wooden wardrobe lay on its side, old-fashioned clothes spilling out all over the floor. A four-poster bed appeared to have been dragged halfway across the room, its sheets torn and hanging from the mattress like snakeskin.

"Sam?" Dean called his brother's name and stepped into the room.

The eldest Winchester heard an unearthly shriek and saw his brother's limp body lifted up from the floor on the other side of the bed.

Sam seemed to dangle in the air, unmoving, his weapon and flashlight long gone.

"No," Dean whispered and pointed his gun above his sibling, trying to find the ghost.

Dean jumped when Hortense screamed and Sam was flung into the wall with a loud thump.

The young man fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. The ghost flickered into sight, her face a mask of rage, and stepped towards Sam's prone form.

Dean pulled the trigger and Hortense vanished, dissipated by the rock salt.

Not waiting for the ghost to return, Dean rushed to his brother's side and crouched down, one hand to Sam's neck to feel for a pulse.

Sam was still alive, just out cold.

Dean sighed with relief. He pointed his flashlight at his brother's face and saw that Hortense must have been throwing Sam around for a few minutes before he'd come upstairs.

A large goose egg was forming on Sam's brow, just beneath his hairline and his nose looked broken, blood seeping sluggishly down his face.

"Sam," Dean said and shook his sibling's shoulder, "C'mon man, wake up."

Sam didn't move.

"Sammy, c'mon, don't make me carry you out of here," Dean cajoled.

Still, Sam refused to wake.

Sighing, Dean stood and bent down, grabbing his brother under the armpits. He wouldn't be able to pick Sam up fully, but he could at least prevent him from whacking his head again. Dean just hoped Hortense didn't decide to come and finish the job she had started.

Carefully, Dean began to walk from the room, peering over his shoulder as Sam's heels dragged across the wooden floorboards.

"Why couldn't you stay nice and small?" Dean complained as he walked down the hallway.

A screech filled the air and Dean nearly dropped his already injured sibling.

"Damn it," he swore and began walking faster, keeping an eye out for Hortense in case she decided to ambush him.

Dean reached the top of the stairs and peered down nervously. The last thing he needed was for the ghost to push him.

Taking a deep breath, Dean stepped down.

Nothing happened.

He continued down, Sam's feet thudding against the steps as he went.

Crossing the entryway was uneventful.

Dean smiled. Maybe Hortense was just giving them a warning this time.

It seemed that Dean was right. He opened the front door and stepped outside without the house collapsing on top of him.

He dragged Sam down the long driveway to where the Impala was parked. Carefully leaning his sibling against the side of the car, Dean grabbed the keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door.

After five minutes of practiced maneuvering, Dean managed to get Sam into the passenger seat. The younger man leaned forwards listlessly until Dean pulled the seat belt across his chest and strapped him in.

Walking around to the driver's side, Dean climbed into the Chevy and started the engine.

Dean hoped that Sam hadn't been seriously injured. A long hospital stay would really put a roadblock in their search for Abbadon.

W

Dean paced the waiting room somewhat impatiently. They didn't have time for this! They needed to get back to the bunker! He never should have let Sam drag him into this hunt.

Nearly four hours later a grey-haired female doctor stepped into the room and looked around, "Family of Samuel Bennington?"

Dean stood up instantly, "Here; I'm his brother."

The doctor smiled and shook his hand, "I'm Dr. Steele."

"Can I take Sam home?" Dean asked, "We were kind of in the middle of something before he got hurt."

Dr. Steele frowned and looked down at her clipboard, "I'm afraid not. Sam appears to have suffered a concussion from the accident and I'd like him to remain here, at least overnight, until we can be sure that it is not serious."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, "Sam's had concussions before, Doctor. It's nothing I can't take care of."

The Doctor's blue eyes met Dean's hazel ones, "And what exactly happened to Sam? How did he come by his injuries?"

Dean instantly tensed up, not liking the woman's suspicious look at all.

"It was a bar fight. Some asshole was drunk and hit him. It's all there on the form," Dean repeated the made-up explanation for the Doctor to hear.

"Hm," she muttered, clearly not believing Dean.

The eldest Winchester sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, "Look, can I at least see him?"

Dr. Steele tucked her clipboard beneath her arm, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "I know what this looks like, Doc. But trust me, I'd never hurt Sam. Let me see him; you can stand there the whole time but I promise you, I didn't do this to him."

Dean must have looked earnest enough because the doctor nodded, "Alright, but I'll be watching you."

Dr. Steele turned and began leading Dean down a long hallway.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Dean thought, maybe I shouldn't have insisted on seeing Sam.

With the animosity his younger sibling was displaying towards him recently, Dean wasn't sure the good doctor wouldn't believe he was abusive.

Oh well, he couldn't take it back now. He just hoped that the doctor wouldn't get the police involved.

W

Dean mentally crossed his fingers as Dr. Steele opened the door to his brother's room and he stepped inside.

Sam was sitting up in bed, a piece of gauze taped to the goose egg on his brow and another one on the left side of his head. Sam's nose looked bruised and painful but not all that bad.

Dean cleared his throat, "Hey Sammy."

Sam turned and looked at Dean, his eyes going wide.

"Dean," he said and smiled, really smiled, at Dean for what felt like the first time in a long time.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked and stepped closer to the bed.

"My head hurts a bit," Sam admitted.

"That's what happens when you get into fights, Sammy," Dean said casually, trying to maintain the lie of a bar brawl having caused his brother's injuries.

Sam frowned, "Fight? Who were we fighting?"

"That stupid asshat in the bar, remember?" Dean pressed.

C'mon Sam, you know this story; Dean thought, feeling Dr. Steele's eyes on his back.

"I didn't think you were here, Dean," Sam told him, "I woke up and I didn't see you and I thought that it must have been a dream."

Dean frowned, "What was a dream? Sam, are you feeling okay?"

Dean stepped up right beside the bed and Sam stared at him with round, wet eyes.

"That you escaped from Purgatory," he whispered, "That you came back. I thought I was alone."

Dean's mouth opened in shock. Purgatory? That had been over a year and a half ago.

If Sam thought he'd just returned from Purgatory, what else did he believe?

Dean wanted to ask Sam more but he couldn't with the doctor breathing down his neck.

Tentatively he reached out and touched his brother's hand. Sam didn't draw away from him.

"Of course I got out Sammy," Dean murmured, "I'm Batman."

Sam smiled at the old joke and looked up when Dr. Steele cleared her throat.

Dean turned to face her, "So, Doc, what do you think?"

Am I beating the shit out of my brother then lying about it?

Dr. Steele looked from Sam to Dean and back again.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I just had to be sure. You never know what happens these days between people."

Dean nodded, tight-lipped. He guessed he couldn't really blame her. She was just trying to look out for Sam.

"If you're fine here," she continued, "I should check on my other patients."

"Wait! I actually have something to ask you. Can we talk outside for a moment?" Dean asked and the doctor nodded.

"I'll be right back, Sammy," Dean promised and Sam nodded, watching as his brother left the room.

Once in the hallway, Dean faced Dr. Steele.

"What's wrong?" the doctor asked immediately.

"Sam doesn't remember what happened," Dean told her.

The doctor didn't look concerned, "That's common with concussions, loss of memory of the event that caused it."

Dean nodded, "But he thought I wasn't here… I uh, went on vacation for a while about a year and a half ago and Sam thinks I just got back."

Now Dr. Steele frowned, "He doesn't recall anything after that?"

"I'm not sure exactly what he remembers," Dean admitted.

Dr. Steele nodded, "He may be experiencing some amnesia due to the head injury. Talk to him; find out what he does remember. Usually this kind of thing wears off. I wouldn't be too alarmed."

"Okay," Dean said, "Thanks Doc."

The woman nodded and walked away.

Dean let out a breath and leaned against the wall for a moment.

If Sam really thought he'd just returned from Purgatory did that mean he'd forgotten everything that had happened since? Had he forgotten all about the Trials and Metatron and the angels and Abbadon?

This could either be very good or very bad.

Dean opened the door and stepped back into Sam's room.

W

Retrograde amnesia. That's what Dr. Steele called it.

Sam recalled his name, what year he had been born, even the Christmas he had given Dean the amulet, but he had no memory of the past year and a half.

It was as though it had never even happened for him.

Although Dean knew he should be concerned, he couldn't help but be just a little (secretly) pleased by the accident.

That look of trust and love in Sam's eyes- which had vanished since he had found out about Gadreel- was returned and Dean's heart just about melted every time he saw it.

Sam didn't ask many questions, he seemed content to have his brother back and that was it.

Don't ask and I won't tell, Dean thought. He knew he couldn't keep everything that had happened during the past year and a half from his brother but he decided that he wouldn't say anything unless Sam questioned him first.

W

The day after Sam had been admitted, Dr. Steele gave him a clean bill of health and said that Dean could take him home.

"Just keep an eye on that amnesia," she told the eldest Winchester, "His memory should start to return any day now."

Dean nodded in understanding.

"If it becomes worse or he has seizures," Dr. Steele continued seriously, "Take him to a hospital right away."

"I will Doctor," Dean said, "Thanks."

The hunter grabbed the handles of the wheelchair- even though Sam could walk it was hospital policy that he use the chair- and headed down the hallway.

Dean had told Sam that he hadn't recently returned from Purgatory, that in fact a year and a half had passed, and his brother had almost bubbled over with questions.

Instead of telling Sam the truth; he didn't think Sam could cope with finding out about the Trials and everything right then, Dean had lied and said that they had simply done as they always had, hunted monsters and saved people since his he'd been back.

W

The drive back to Lebanon, Kansas didn't take long and the look on Sam's face as they approached the Men of Lettters' bunker was priceless.

Dean smirked and cut the engine, "C'mon Sammy. It's way better inside."

Sam opened his door and stepped out onto the gravel driveway, "We really live here?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, "Sure beats motel-hopping."

Sam eagerly followed his brother inside and his eyes seemed to pop in his head as he stared at the interior of the hidden building. Dean chuckled at the sight.

"This place in incredible," Sam said, his voice full of awe.

Dean smirked as he looked at the long wooden tables still strewn with research papers.

"Why don't you get yourself reacquainted?" Dean suggested, "I've got some work I have to finish."

Sam peered curiously at his brother, "What work?"

"Uh…" Dean scratched the back of his head, "Nothing special, just the usual research. The Men of Letters collected every scrap of information about every paranormal freak out there and I've been looking through it."

The thought of research caught Sam's attention; Dean should have known better.

"Why don't I help?"

Dean shook his head, "Maybe later, okay? Just take a self-guided tour. Maybe have a nap when you find your room. Take it easy for now."

Sam frowned a little but nodded, "Okay. You sure?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "I can read on my own, Sammy. I am a big boy you know."

Sam smiled and walked down the steps, past the tables without looking at the papers covering them and walked through the doorway at the opposite end of the room, heading further into the bunker.

Dean sighed and made his way to the table. Glancing down at the sheets, he began cleaning them up. He'd have to do his research later, when Sam was asleep.

Once the papers were organized into a stack in the center of the table, Dean sat down and put his head in his hands.

He didn't know how long he could keep lying to Sam. He knew he shouldn't but he didn't want to lose his brother again. He didn't want to go back to the Sam who just wanted it all to end and resented Dean's work to save him.

Despite knowing how destructive it was Dean knew he would keep his mouth shut about the events of the past year, creating half-truths and false realities to prevent Sam from remembering just how much he hated him.

SPN

Sam made his way down the hallway slowly. He opened every door he came to, peering inside curiously.

He couldn't believe this place actually existed much less that he and Dean called it home.

He wished he remembered what had happened during the past year and a half; it was unnerving not to be able to draw on memories that should have been there.

Sam wondered how he and Dean had found this place. Was it abandoned? Had anybody lived here before? Who exactly were the Men of Letters?

Opening a door on his left, Sam peered inside and saw a bathroom.

Well, that wasn't very excit-

-clutching the basin of the sink with both hands, Sam, bows his head and coughs wetly.

He tastes a coppery tang in the back of his throat and on his tongue.

Opening his clenched eyes, Sam sees bright red smears against the creamy porcelain.

His legs shake as though made of jelly and his head is swimming. His insides feel as though they are being torn apart.

Sam lifts one hand and covers his mouth as he begins to cough again, a warm wetness splattering his palm.

Lifting his head, Sam looks into the mirror. His face is pale as milk and there is blood on his lips-

-ing. Sam released the doorknob and staggered into the bathroom. He pawed at the light switch until it turned on, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

His face was pale with two red spots high on his cheeks, as though he had a fever.

Sam raised a shaking hand and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs off his brow.

The goose egg on his forehead had gone down but there was now an unpleasant purplish bruise marring the skin.

What was that? Sam thought, Was I sick? That seemed bad. Why didn't Dean say anything?

Sam turned off the light and left the bathroom. He didn't feel like exploring the bunker anymore. He wanted answers.

SPN

Dean looked up when the door across the room opened and Sam appeared. He hadn't moved since his brother left and now he stood, stretching, trying to pretend he hadn't been mulling over their situation all that time.

"Sam, are you alright?" Dean asked when he noticed how pale his brother was.

"Dean… was I… sick?" Sam asked slowly, his expression confused.

"When? What are you talking about?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"I remembered something…" Sam hesitated, "At least, I think it was a memory…"

Dean stepped closer to his brother, "What was it Sam?"

Maybe if he knew exactly what Sam had remembered he could make up a quick lie to cover the truth.

"I was… coughing," Sam said, his eyes round and wet, "But… it felt awful. My insides felt like they were on fire and there was… there was blood. Dean, I was coughing up blood!"

Dean reached out to his brother and pulled Sam into a hug- something he wouldn't dare do only a few days before- to comfort him.

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean murmured, "That's past. You're better now. That's all you need to know."

Don't ask anymore, please don't ask; Dean silently begged.

"Was I dying? Dean? It felt like I was," Sam whispered and Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

"No, of course not," he lied, "You just got sick but we took you to the hospital, gave you some medicine and you were fine."

"Why don't you lay down?" Dean suggested, "You're still recovering from that ghost attack."

"Okay," Sam answered wearily and pulled away from the hug, "Uh… Dean?"

The older brother looked up, "Yeah?"

Chagrinned, Sam asked, "Can you show me where my room is? I don't remember."

Dean smiled, "Sure, Sam."

He led his brother down the hall towards his bedroom, frowning.

If Sam recalled one moment from when he'd been sick because of the Trials, how long would it take before everything came back?

Dean knew he was being selfish but he didn't want Sam to remember the past year and a half. That had not been a good time for them and he didn't want Sam to have to go through all of it again.

Sam seemed to be happier not knowing, confused, but happier.

He's going to find out sometime, a voice in Dean's head- a voice that sounded suspiciously like Crowley's- and the hunter scowled.

Of course he couldn't keep the truth from Sam forever, not with everything that was happening- that would be impossible- but he remained steadfast in his conviction to tell Sam only what he needed to know.

It wasn't the best, nor the smartest idea Dean Winchester had ever come up with but he couldn't bear to lose his brother again.

Sam needed him again. Sam trusted him again and loved him and Dean was going to hold on to that, damn it!

"Here we are," he said and opened the door to Sam's bedroom.

Sam stepped into the room and turned on the light. He surveyed the interior for a moment before turning to look at Dean.

"Thanks for looking out for me," Sam said and Dean's heart clenched in his chest.

Dean tried to keep from feeling like he was betraying his brother when he said, "That's my job. I'm Batman and you're Robin. I'm nothing without my sidekick."

Sam chuckled and smiled at him.

"Get some sleep," Dean told his brother and left the room, closing the door after himself.

Walking down the hallway on his way back to the main room, Dean forcing himself to keep going and not run back and tell Sam the truth.

I'll tell him, Dean thought, when the time is right.

If it's ever right.


	13. Peace Of Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Sam J. Eller: Teen!Chester. Sam has a bad migraine and Dean takes care of him. Sam is 16, Dean is 20.

Dean knew Sam was getting a migraine even before his brother did.

He could tell by the way Sam rubbed at the back of his neck, frowning.

He could tell by the way Sam snapped at him after he'd jokingly suggested ordering a Meat Lover's pizza, knowing full well his younger brother was practically a vegetarian.

He could tell by the way Sam seemed to be constantly yawning even though he shouldn't be tired.

Yes, Dean knew that Sam was about to get a migraine very soon and made sure he was prepared for it.

W

It seemed that ever since Sam had hit puberty he'd started getting horrible headaches. They occurred suddenly- only later Dean was able to decipher the warning signs- and left Sam basically crippled for at least two days (if not more).

John didn't seem to get it. He'd just tell Sam to suck it up, take some Advil and get his ass into gear. But getting Sam to do anything while in the midst of one of his migraines was impossible. John had a better chance of becoming Prime Minister of Canada than forcing his incapacitated youngest to train or go on a hunt.

Dean hated seeing his brother huddled on his bed, eyes clenched tight, sweat dripping down his face, helpless. While John would mope or go on a hunt by himself- because Dean refused to leave Sam so defenseless- the older sibling would take care of the younger.

By now Dean pretty much had it down to a science. He always had everything prepared in advance so when the migraine did start in earnest, all Sam had to do was sleep and try and ride out the pain.

W

Dean glanced at Sam lying in the bed next to his and set the timer on his watch. He had a habit of measuring how long Sam's migraines lasted; so far the record was three days.

The motel room was dark and quiet- the curtains drawn across the windows, the lights were out, the television turned off- with only the muffled sound of the highway that ran right in front of their current residence coming through the walls.

Dean hoped that Sam wouldn't be sick this time. During his brother's last migraine, Dean had had to hold the motel room's garbage can underneath Sam's head because the place smelled like stale cigarette smoke and it was making him nauseous.

Outside their room a car door slammed shut and Sam groaned in pain, grabbing his head.

Carefully, Dean drew the curtain back an inch and sighed in relief when he didn't see the Impala.

Since both his sons weren't willing to go with him, John had teamed up with another hunter from a nearby town that was also experiencing the odd rash of suicides as the one the Winchesters were staying in.

Dean frowned and closed the curtain. He hoped John caught whatever was making the townspeople kill themselves soon, not only because that piece of shit needed to be taken out but because all of the victims had experienced migraine-like symptoms days before offing themselves.

Sam was fine though… well, other than feeling like his head was about to explode. Dean had seen all the usual symptoms Sam displayed before his migraine and now it was playing out just as it always did.

Besides, if any supernatural bastard tried to lay one finger on Sam, they'd have Dean Winchester to answer to.

SPN

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the voice in his head.

You'll never get out. Your father won't let you. He expects you to follow in his footsteps. Forever.

Sam groaned in agony, the voice causing his brain to throb every time it spoke.

You don't want to be a hunter. I understand. Why is it fair that you must seek vengeance for a woman you never knew?

Sam couldn't even think, couldn't even argue. All he could do was listen and pray the migraine ended soon.

SPN

Dean woke suddenly, confused.

Something was making an odd banging sound.

He checked his watch and saw that it was just past midnight.

Sitting up and stretching, Dean's gaze turned to his brother's bed.

His brother's empty bed.

"The hell…" Dean said out loud- bewildered- because there was no possible way Sam could have gotten out of bed if his headache was still as bad as it had been earlier.

And what the fuck was that sound?

Dean turned and saw that the motel room door was ajar. The deadbolt stuck out, hitting the doorframe repeatedly in the wind.

Dean stood and looked around the room. Sam was definitely gone.

But how? His migraine couldn't have ended- it had only been a few hours since it started and it always lasted longer than this. Besides, even if the headache was gone- by some miracle- Sam wouldn't be in any condition to go for a midnight stroll. He'd be weak and exhausted in bed, drained.

"Dad's hunt," Dean whispered and grabbed his jacket, boots and a flashlight.

Exiting the motel room, Dean stared around the parking lot.

Even though it was almost the middle of April, the snow was just starting to melt, allowing for tracks from pedestrians, animals and vehicles to be clearly visible.

Dean glanced down. There was no snow in front of their motel room- the sidewalks had been shoveled- but the parking lot was still covered in a layer of the white stuff.

The twenty-year old kept his eyes to the ground as he stepped in between cars, searching for footprints that looked out of place. Sam had been wearing a pair of old sweat pants and a hoodie in bed and Dean was sure he'd seen his boots sitting near the front door before he'd run out.

There! Dean caught sight of two barefoot prints wandering across the parking lot.

"Sam!" Dean shouted and swept his flashlight across the edge of the lot.

He didn't see any sign of his sibling so he kept moving forward, following the tracks.

Dean's heart began to beat faster in his chest. Sam's footprints led along the edge of the highway that was mercifully quiet at the moment.

"Sammy!" Dean called, staining to catch sight of his brother in the darkness.

Dean's mouth grew dry when he saw red begin to stain the tracks- the roadside wasn't exactly clean, bits of gravel mixed with pieces of garbage assholes threw out of their cars- and picked up speed. He had to get to Sam.

"SAM! Where are you?!" Dean called again, desperately.

Dean raised the hand holding the flashlight and caught sight of a shock of dark brown hair.

Sam!

Dean ran forward, happy and terrified at finding his sibling.

"Sammy!" he cried and skidded to a halt a few feet from his sibling.

Sam was standing facing the road, his face blank. He didn't even acknowledge Dean's arrival. It was as though he were patiently waiting for something.

"Sam?" Dean asked and took a step forward.

Sam turned his head to look at him.

Dean's heart broke at the expression on his sibling's face.

Sam's face was pale as a sheet and slick with sweat- his bangs stuck to his brow- his eyes were bloodshot and wet, the pupils huge in the darkness.

"Don't come any closer, Dean," he whispered.

"Sam, stop, what are you doing?" Dean asked and took a step forward.

Sam also took a step forward so that his toes touched the white line of the edge of the road.

"Stop!" Dean demanded, "Don't move!"

"Stay away, Dean… Please…" Sam begged.

"What is going on? Sam, whatever you're thinking, don't do it."

"I… I can't stop it, Dean," Sam told him, "I have to."

"Sammy, whatever you're feeling, it isn't real. It's Dad's hunt. It's whatever son of a bitch is out there, making people kill themselves," Dean tried to remind Sam of the case that had originally come to investigate, hoping that it would be enough to help Sam snap out of it.

"She knows, Dean," Sam said and tears began leaking down his face, making him look even more pathetic, "She was in my head. She knows I can't leave. She said this was the only way. I have to leave now."

The ground beneath Dean's feet began to tremble and the young man looked up and his heart stopped.

An eighteen-wheeler was rumbling down the road towards them.

"Sam, don't you even think about it," Dean said urgently, "You have to fight it. This isn't what you want and you know it!"

Tears continued to stream down his brother's face, "I c-can't stop it. Dean… I'm s-sorry."

"Sam! No!" Dean shouted as his brother stepped into the road.

The eighteen-wheeler's driver honked the horn, the vehicle's lights washing over both Winchesters as eighty thousand pounds of steel bore down on them.

W

The wind tore at Dean's jacket as the semi blew past, horn still blaring.

Dean let out his breath slowly, his heart jackhammering in his chest.

Sam lay curled beneath him, eyes shut and breath fast-paced.

Sitting up, Dean stared after the truck, marveling how close he had just come to losing his brother.

He had managed to grab the hood of Sam's sweater and yank him back as he'd stepped out into the path of the truck.

Dean reached down and touched his brother's shoulder, "Sammy?"

The sixteen-year old's eyes opened only a fraction of an inch and he gave a quiet moan of protest.

Leaving his brother's side for a moment, Dean collected his flashlight- the lens cracked when he dropped it in his rush to grab Sam- before turning back to his sibling.

Sam had recently gone through a growth spurt and now he was all arms and legs, but that didn't stop Dean. He bent down and heaved his brother up, carrying him bridal style.

"Jesus, Sam," He grunted, "What the hell have you been eating?"

Carefully Dean carried his sibling back to the motel room, laying Sam down on his back on his bed.

While his brother was out of it, Dean decided to take care of his feet. Grabbing the First Aid kit, he brought out the antiseptic wipes and bandages. At least if Sam's migraine continued for another couple of days he'd be off his feet enough to let them heal a bit.

Dean cringed as he began wiping the blood from the sole of one of Sam's feet, revealing over a dozen cuts in the tender flesh, and hoped his brother didn't end up with tetanus.

Once both Sam's feet had been cleaned and bandaged, Dean laid down on his own bed, exhausted from his brother's brush with death.

Closing his eyes, ready to welcome sleep once again, Dean was interrupted when his cell phone began to vibrate on the nightstand, 'Smoke on the Water' trilling loudly.

Grabbing his phone quickly so that the sound wouldn't bother Sam, Dean answered the caller.

"Yeah?"

"I'm heading back," John's voice said, "We got it."

Dean breathed out through his nose, rubbing above his eyebrow, "What was it?"

"A witch. Mort and I destroyed the alter she was using and killed her. No one else in town should be forced to commit suicide now."

"Why?" Dean asked suddenly.

"Why what?" John replied.

"Why was she making people kill themselves?"

Dean heard a rustle of fabric as John shrugged, "She claimed she was helping people. Said she was helping them, giving them the strength they needed to do what they need to do, what they were afraid to do themselves or some shit like that."

"Hm," Dean muttered.

"How's Sam? He better yet?" John asked.

Dean shook his head, "I don't think so. You know how long his migraines can last."

John grunted a response, "I'd like to the hell out of town."

"It'll only be for two more days tops," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah," John replied, "I'll let you go. See you soon."

"Right," Dean answered and closed his phone.

He put the cell down on the nightstand and glanced at his brother.

Sam had said that the witch had been in his head, that she knew he couldn't leave- whatever the hell that meant- and that killing himself was the only way… the only way to what? John told him that the witch believed she was helping people.

Sam had started talking about what would happen after he graduated high school.

John had told Sam what was going to happen after he graduated; he'd stay with them and hunt down the monster that had killed their mother.

Wait! Did the witch mean that she knew John wouldn't let Sam leave them? Did she mean that killing himself would be the only way Sam would be able to get away from them?

Dean's hands curled into fists and he glared at his brother.

Sam had said the witch knew- knew what he was thinking, what he wanted- but that couldn't be true.

Why would Sam want to leave? Sure, John could be a hardass but he wasn't that bad, really? Was it him? Did Sam want to leave him? Was he the thing keeping Sam from going away?

He wanted answers but he knew he wouldn't get any with Sam's current condition. He would just have to wait.

W

"D'n?"

The twenty-year old and his father looked up at the sound of the tiny voice calling out.

"D'n?"

Dean had told John about Sam's near-suicide but he hadn't mentioned why the witch had picked him.

He knew it would piss his Dad off and Dean didn't want John reaming Sam while he was still suffering from the migraine.

Dean stood up and approached his sibling.

"Yeah, Sammy?" he crouched down beside the bed so that he could speak quietly.

His brother's face was haggard; pale with dark circles under his eyes.

Eyes that now filled with tears.

"Thanks for saving me," Sam whispered tiredly.

"Sam-" Dean began but his brother reached out and gripped his arm.

"It wasn't true. I don't want to leave you."

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment as a lump formed in his throat. His eyes prickled and he quickly blinked the sensation away.

"I know, Sammy," he said, "It's okay. I know."

His brother squeezed his arm and then let go.

Dean watched as Sam's eyes slipped close again and stood.

John looked at his eldest expectantly, "What was that?"

"Oh, uh, Sam just wanted to know if you got the monster."

John nodded and continued with what he had been doing, writing in his journal.

Dean sighed and looked at his brother again.

He knew that Sam might not want to leave him but he also knew how unhappy his brother was becoming.

Dean wondered how long before 'I don't want to leave you' turned into 'I have to leave you.'

Sam had some decisions to make in the coming future. And so did Dean.

He could decide to resent his brother for trying to blaze his own path instead of following obediently in John's wake or he could help Sam every step of the way, have his back as he always did.

Dean glanced at John and knew what decision he was going to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not personally get migraine headaches, but my sister does and I know just how bad they can get. I got the information about migraine symptoms- before, after, and during a migraine headache- from the Mayo Clinic's website.


	14. Chicken Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Maxandkiz: Sheriff Jody Mills takes care of a sick Sam.  
> Set between Season 7, Episode 23 "Survival of the Fittest" and Season 8, Episode 1 "We Need To Talk About Kevin".   
> Instead of hooking up with Amelia while Dean is in Purgatory, Sam returns to Sioux Falls and stays with the Sheriff.

Jody looked sadly at the youngest Winchester and sighed. She didn't know what to do for him.

She knew what her mother's instincts were telling her but Sam didn't need a parent right now. He needed Dean.

But Dean wasn't here.

Dean was gone.

At least that's what Sam had said when he'd shown up on the Sheriff's front porch in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm.

Dean was gone.

And so was Sam.

The young man was lost. That spark, that drive Jody had seen before in the few times they had met had vanished from him, leaving a sad, lonely shell of a man.

He barely ate anything even though Jody made enough food to feed twenty people instead of just two. He rarely slept even though she said the guest bedroom was his for as long as he chose to stay. He refused to speak more than in monosyllables when Jody managed to get him to talk.

Jody pulled her hat on and grabbed her jacket.

"I have to go to the station, Sam," she told him, "There's cereal in the cupboard for breakfast and cold cuts and bread to make sandwiches for lunch."

Jody felt as though she had to remind Sam that there was food even though she knew that he wouldn't eat.

He's bound to make himself sick, she thought.

"I should be back in time for dinner," Jody finished and stepped outside, closing and locking the front door behind herself.

Walking towards her car, Jody shook her head, "Where are you Dean?"

SPN

Sam stared blankly ahead.

He felt numb, hollow, filling only with wave after wave of sadness, grief.

Sam sucked in a watery breath and felt tears well up in his eyes.

He had never felt so alone.

Not even when Dean had sold his soul and been taken to Hell. At least Sam had had Bobby.

Now Sam had no one.

Wrapping his arms around his middle as though to keep from falling apart, Sam started to cry.

He couldn't help it.

He couldn't stop the tears.

He just wanted his brother back.

SPN

"Sam? I'm home," Jody called as she unlocked the front door and stepped inside, slipping her boots off.

There was no response and she didn't expect one. Shrugging out of her coat and hanging it in the closet, Jody stepped into the living room.

Sam was were he had been that morning but now instead of sitting on the couch, he was lying on his side, his feet pressed up against one of its arm and his head resting against the other.

He looked pale, more pale than usual and the dark circles under his eyes were very pronounced. He also had a sheen of sweat coating his face, his bangs sticking to his brow.

"Sam? Are you feeling alright?" Jody asked and walked over to the couch.

Sam looked up at her with glassy eyes.

"M'not feelin' good," he muttered.

The Sheriff placed her palm against Sam's forehead and drew back, "You're burning up!"

Sam groaned miserably and closed his eyes.

Jody's lips pursed into a thin line. She may not be Sam's mother but she knew how to take care of a sick boy, even if that boy was in fact a twenty-nine year old, 6' 4" man.

The Sheriff left Sam's side so that she could gather everything she needed. Upstairs she grabbed a washcloth and a bottle of Tylenol. In the kitchen she found a can of Ginger Ale wedged into a corner at the back of the refrigerator and put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

Pausing at the sink, Jody ran cold water over the cloth before squeezing it out as much as she could and returned to the living room.

Sam opened his eyes slowly and stared at the Sheriff as she set the soda and bottle of painkillers down on the coffee table.

"Can you sit up?" she asked and when Sam blinked up at her, helped him into a sitting position on the couch.

Sam shivered visibly and wrapped his arms around his middle.

Jody opened the can of Ginger Ale and shook two Tylenols onto her palm.

Sam took the pills without a fight, washing them down with a generous mouthful of soda.

"Lie back down," Jody murmured and Sam gratefully flopped back onto the couch cushions.

The Sheriff couldn't help but smile just a little at the sight of the hunter acting just like a kid. She placed the cool washcloth on Sam's brow and left to go make him some soup.

W

Jody woke with a start, on high-alert and peered anxiously around her bedroom.

All was quiet. Nothing moved.

Glancing at her alarm, she saw that it was three a.m. and began settling down to sleep again when she heard a cry.

Sam! She thought and was out of bed instantly.

Grabbing her housecoat, Jody hurried down the hallways and down the stairs.

"D'n!"

The Sheriff turned on the living room light and saw Sam was sitting up, swaying precariously an agitated.

"Sam!" Jody said and sat beside the young man, taking hold on one of his arms while placing her hand on his brow.

Sam stared at the Sheriff with a bewildered expression on his face. He was clearly expecting someone else.

Keeping a hold of Sam's arm to prevent him from falling, Jody leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of Tylenol.

Releasing the young man, Jody opened the bottle and shook two pills out onto her hand. She grabbed the now-flat can of Ginger Ale and offered them both to Sam.

"Take these," she said.

"W-Where's D-Dean?" Sam asked sadly, eyes pleading.

"Sam, take the pills," Jody instructed, ignoring the young man's question.

His fever didn't seem to be going down.

"I want Dean," Sam said, "Where is he?"

Although she hated the idea of lying to Sam, Jody didn't think she had much of a choice. Hopefully Sam wouldn't remember this when the fever broke.

"He just ran out to get more Ginger Ale, Sam," she assured him, "He'll be back any minute now."

The hunter actually looked relieved by this news and he took the pills from Jody.

The Sheriff stood and crossed her arms as Sam lay down on the couch again.

"Why don't I make you some soup?" Jody asked; Sam nodded tiredly.

The Sheriff decided that since she was awake now she might as well stay up and make sure Sam's fever didn't worsen.

Walking into the kitchen, Jody opened the fridge and took out the container of unfinished soup.

She poured the yellow liquid into a pot and set it on the stove to warm up.

Owen had loved chicken noodle soup whenever he was sick. He always asked for it, even if he just had a cold.

Tears sprung unexpectedly into Jody's eyes and she quickly wiped them away.

W

Once the soup was steaming, Jody returned to the living room and saw that Sam was fast asleep.

Sighing, Jody sat down on one of the armchairs in the room and stirred the soup lazily around the bowl.

Watching the young man resting on her couch, Jody knew that she had to do something to help him. He might not like it but she was certain he had gotten sick because he wasn't taking care of himself. Well, the Sheriff of Sioux Falls was going to put a stop to that.

She knew from personal experience how hard it was to lose a loved one but remaining overshadowed by grief and guilt did nothing to honour their memory or help those still alive move forward.

As soon as Sam was better, things were going to change. Jody was sure Dean wouldn't want to see his brother like this and she had to remind Sam of that.

Jody looked up when the young man shifted on the couch and opened his eyes.

"Would you like some soup?" Jody asked kindly.

Sam nodded and sat up tiredly. The Sheriff came and sat beside him, handing him the bowl and spoon.

Sam smiled at Jody.

"You make the best chicken noodle soup, Sheriff Mills," he said.

Jody smiled back at the young man.

"Don't tell Dean I told you."

The Sheriff's grin faltered a bit, "I won't Sam."

Jody leaned back against the couch cushions as Sam began to eat.

Reaching out, the Sheriff took Sam's free hand and squeezed it.

It'll be okay, Sam; she thought, we'll get through this. We'll get through this together.


	15. Out Of Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from flygirl33: Sam temporarily loses his sight. Dean has to be his eyes and take care of him until he can see again. Set Season One.

"Sam!" Dean shouted when he heard his brother cry out, followed by a solid thud.

Peeking over the edge of the grave, Dean saw his brother's body lying crumpled against a headstone.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean shouted again but his sibling didn't move.

"Damn it!" Dean swore and turned his attention to the task at hand.

The skeleton was already covered in a thick layer of salt and gasoline; all it needed was an open flame to make it nice and toasty.

Grabbing the edge of the grave, Dean pulled himself up- sparing a glance at his sibling- before he fished the cheap plastic lighter from his jacket pocket.

He had to act quickly. Sam had been the only thing between the pissed off spirit and Dean… and now with his sibling out of commission, his older brother was a sitting duck.

The lighter flickered to life and Dean tossed it into the open grave. The ghost appeared only a few feet from the hunter, flames sprouting at its feet before growing and consuming it in a cascade of sparks.

"Sammy!" Dean called and ran to his sibling.

"Sam," Dean murmured and knelt down beside his brother.

Dean reached out and pulled his brother into a sitting position, his back against the gravestone he'd been thrown into.

"Sammy? C'mon, wake up, man," Dean begged and shook his brother's shoulder a little.

Miraculously, Sam's eyes fluttered a little and he groaned in pain.

"M'head," he murmured and Dean instantly began checking for injuries.

Sam hissed and pulled away when Dean's prodding fingers came into contact with the back of his head, the area swollen.

"You're bleeding, Sammy," Dean said he felt a warm dampness to his brother's hair.

"Does it need stitches?" Sam asked through gritted teeth, eyes shut tight.

"Don't think so," Dean assured him, "Some iodine and gauze should do the trick."

"We've gotta get out of here," he continued, tugging on Sam's arm to encourage him to stand.

The younger man staggered to his feet, grabbing Dean's wrist as he did so.

"Dean?" Sam asked; his voice tinged with anxiety.

"Yeah?" the older brother asked, distracted.

"W-Why's it so dark?"

"Because it's nighttime, College-boy," Dean smirked, "You must have hit your head pretty hard to forget it gets dark when the sun goes down."

Sam's grip tightened almost to the point of being painful, "S-Something's wrong."

Dean turned to his brother, confused.

Sam's eyes were wide, the pupils large so as to take in as much available light as possible and he had beads of sweat on his brow.

"Let's just get back to the motel room," Dean said, "You're probably feeling wonky because of that bump on your head."

SPN

The brothers walked slowly through the cemetery, Sam clutching his sibling's arm the entire time.

Dean forced Sam to let go though, when they reached the Impala.

"I have to put the stuff in the trunk," he told his brother, leaving Sam to stand beside the passenger's door.

Sam found the handle and pulled the door open. His heart was pounding in his chest and sweat dripped down his face.

Something was very wrong.

It was dark. Too dark.

Sam rubbed his eyes with his hands and blinked.

He jumped when Dean opened his door and slid into the driver's seat. Sam listened to his brother put the key in the ignition and turn the engine on.

"Dean," Sam said in a tight voice.

"What is it?" his brother asked.

"I… I can't see…"

SPN

"How many fingers am I holding?" Dean asked, waving three fingers in front of his brother's face.

"I don't know!" Sam exclaimed, teetering on the edge of becoming frantic.

Dean held out a calming hand, even though Sam- apparently- couldn't see it.

"Okay, okay," he said in a soothing tone, "You can tell when I do this, right?"

Dean reached out and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the morel room into darkness.

"Yeah," Sam said weakly.

"So," Dean concluded, turning the light back on, "If you were really blind, you won't be able to see anything, right?"

Sam shrugged, "Maybe. I guess."

"It's probably just the concussion," Dean suggested, "All you need is some rest and you'll be back to normal in the morning."

Sam nodded but Dean could see the uncertainty in his brother's expression.

"Trust me Sam," he said, "You just shook your brain around some; no wonder its kind of acting funny now. It just needs time to sort itself out again."

Sam let out a long breath, "Yeah… okay."

Dean smiled, "Let me just take a look at that cut and we'll call it a night."

Sam nodded and let Dean dab at the wound with iodine before carefully taping a square of gauze over it.

Sam settled gratefully down on his stomach on the bed, closing his eyes and falling asleep quickly.

W

"Jess! No!"

Sam shouting woke his older brother instantly and Dean was up in seconds, ready to defend his sibling.

Blinking in the darkness, Dean saw that it was only four in the morning.

Crossing to his brother's bed, Dean sat down on the edge and rubbed his sibling's back soothingly.

"Shh, Sammy," he murmured, "It's just a nightmare."

He paused when he felt Sam raise himself up on his arms, "D'n?"

"Yeah," he replied, "You were having a bad dream."

"I- I'm okay," he announced, "Go back to bed."

"You're sure?" Dean asked, hurt that Sam didn't want him there.

"Yeah," Sam lay back down to emphasize his point.

Dean sighed and left his brother's side, returning to his own bed.

W

"DEAN!"

The young man's eyes snapped open and he sat up. Golden morning sunlight was streaming through the window and Sam was standing beside his bed, hands on his face, fingers seeming to dig into the skin beneath his eyes.

"Sam? Sam, what the hell are you doing?" Dean asked as he went to his brother's side and yanked his hands down.

"I- I- can't… I can't see," Sam stammered, breathing fast-paced and shallow, "I can't see. I can't see."

Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him; probably not a good idea when Sam was already recovering from a head injury.

"Sam!" he snapped, "Calm down! Now!"

Sam nodded, sinking back down onto his bed. He raked one hand through his hair roughly.

"Sorry," he apologized.

Dean took a seat beside him, "Is it like last night?"

Sam nodded, "I can see that it's brighter… but I can't see you… or the room…"

Dean rubbed a hand down his face.

"Okay. I know you're not going to like this but I think we have to see a doctor."

Sam nodded, looking morose.

SPN

Sam sat uncomfortably on the examination table. The doctor had already examined his eyes- shining a light in them- and asked his questions.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"What does the poster above my desk say?"

And now Sam was waiting for Dean to come in from the waiting room.

The doctor had said he could just talk to him but Sam insisted Dean be here as well. Whatever the doctor had to say, Dean needed to listen too.

Sam heard the door open and he felt Dean squeeze his arm comfortingly.

The doctor clear his throat, "It appears as though you're suffering from cortical blindness. It happens when there is damage to the brain's occipital lobe."

"Is it permanent?" Dean asked.

"That's the good news," the doctor continued, "Cortical blindness is most often not permanent and can be reversed if it is the result of a head injury."

"How long will Sam be like this?" Dean asked.

"I'd say that until his brain has had a chance to heal," the doctor told them, "your brother will experience this blindness."

Sam felt as though a great weight was lifted from his shoulders, he felt as though he could breathe again.

He wasn't going to be like this forever. Just until his brain had had a chance to recover from getting jostled around inside his skull.

SPN

Dean insisted they leave town as soon as they got back from the doctor's office.

"I know we don't have a case but I don't want to stick around town," he told Sam, "We'll just drive for a while and stop when we want."

"Okay," Sam replied, sounding down.

"Hey, what's wrong? You heard what the doctor said; this isn't permanent," Dean said, noticing his sibling's mood.

"I know, Dean," Sam said, "But right now I'm useless. We can't take on any cases because of it. And I can't exactly go out like this."

"So we'll lay low," Dean told him confidently, "Order take-out, watch crappy action movies- it'll be a mini vacation."

Sam didn't look very happy. Dean sighed. He didn't know what to say. Sam had been so sad since leaving Stanford and now this was only making it worse.

Sam make have lost his sight for the time being but his subconscious was still vividly tormenting him with memories of his girlfriend being burnt to a crisp on their bedroom ceiling. How was that for ironic?

SPN

"I've gotta stop, Sammy," Dean spoke up, "Baby needs gas."

Sam shifted nervously in his seat.

"I'll be two seconds," Dean assured him.

Sam felt the Impala lurch to a stop as Dean parked in front of a gas pump.

Dean turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.

Sam rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. He blinked a couple of times but it made no difference, he still couldn't see.

Sighing, Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat.

He jumped when the driver's side door opened suddenly.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean apologized, chuckling slightly.

"I got us some snacks," he continued and Sam heard a bag being torn open.

"What is it?" Sam asked cautiously, not putting it past his sibling to try and trick him somehow.

"M&Ms," Dean told him as he crunched through a mouthful of the candy-covered chocolates.

Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Don't worry, I got something you'd like," Dean told him and Sam felt a bag pushed against his hand.

"What is it?" he asked, taking the bag from his brother.

"SunChips," Dean told him, "They're supposed to be healthier than potato chips or whatever."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said sincerely.

"I don't think snacks deserve a chick-flick moment, Sammy," Dean chuckled good-naturedly.

SPN

Dean glared pointedly at the obese woman behind the desk as her piggy eyes rolled in Sam's direction for the fifth time.

"You see something green?" he asked impolitely.

The woman snorted, sounding very porcine, and shoved the room key at Dean.

He swiped the yellow fob off the desk and grabbed Sam's arm, leading him out the door.

Sam hadn't wanted to wait in the car again and Dean didn't blame him but having someone stare at him like he had two heads was just rude.

So what if Sam had only looked straight ahead? He was blind- temporarily- not some weirdo.

Don't waste your time on that sort of shit, Dean told himself.

He stopped in front of their motel room and opened the door. The room was drab and brown.

At least Sam can't see how awful this place looks, Dean thought.

"Okay, Sam," Dean said, "You go inside and I'll grab the duffels."

"Dean, I can help," Sam argued but Dean shook his head before he remembered his brother couldn't' see.

"I've got it," he insisted, "You just get acquainted with the room."

Before his brother could say anything else, Dean left, walking across the parking lot towards where he'd parked the Impala.

Unlocking the car door and driving towards their room, Dean smiled slightly when he saw Sam disappear inside.

W

"How about pizza?" Dean suggested as he looked over the list of nearby restaurants the motel room provided.

He figured that pizza would be a relatively safe food to eat while Sam couldn't see.

"Sure," his brother replied, clearly not caring about what they ate.

"Sam, what's up?" Dean asked, lowering the list and peering at his brother.

Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring straight ahead, hands clasped between his knees.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"No," Dean said and stood, moving to sit beside his sibling, "Tell me, what's wrong?"

Sam didn't speak for a long moment.

"What if this is permanent?"

"But the doctor said-" Dean began but Sam interrupted him.

"I know what he said!" Sam snapped before his tone became quieter again, "But… what if I'm the exception. What if I'm one of those rare few who ends up staying blind because of this? With luck like mine… I wouldn't doubt it."

"Don't say that Sam," Dean said, "The doc seemed pretty confident that you'd get your sight back."

Sam shrugged noncommittally.

"And… if it doesn't come back," Dean continued, "We'll figure something out. Okay? Me and you. We'll get through it, whatever happens."

"What about Dad?" Sam asked.

"He's still alive if he's been sending us tips on where to head to next," Dean said, "Maybe if this goes sour he'll stop hopping from state to state and come see us."

Sam turned his head in Dean's direction.

"Dean… do you mean… that'd you'd stop hunting if this doesn't get better?"

Dean smiled sadly, "Hell yeah. I can't let you alone for two minutes! Look what happens!"

Sam chuckled.

"I'll be there to help you figure everything out, Sammy," he continued.

Sam nodded, sniffing.

"Aw," Dean murmured and gasped when Sam hugged him tightly.

"You just had to turn this into a chick-flick, didn't you?" Dean asked, hugging his brother back.

"You started it," Sam reminded him, smiling.

"What do you say we order that pizza? I'm starving," Dean said, changing the subject.

"Sounds good to me," Sam replied, looking much happier knowing that Dean had his back.

Dean stood and stretched, smiling.

I've always got your back, little brother; Dean thought as he opened his cell phone.

No matter what.


	16. Enemy Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from emebalia who wanted to see a sick Sam.   
> Teen!Chester where Sam is 15 and Dean is 19.  
> Sam has cancer and Dean is taking care of him as he goes through chemotherapy.   
> Warning: Tissues may be needed.

Dean rubbed Sam's back- feeling rather helpless- as his sibling hung his head over the toilet bowl.

The fifteen-year old groaned miserably and spat into the toilet, wiping his mouth with one hand.

"You done?" Dean asked, peering concernedly at his brother.

Sam nodded, swallowing. Dean stood and grabbed a washcloth from the shelf above the toilet, running warm water from the tap over it.

Sam stood shakily and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes.

Dean didn't say anything; he just handed over the cloth so Sam could wipe his face.

"Why don't you go lie down for a little bit?" Dean suggested, "You usually feel better after you've had a nap."

"Yeah," Sam muttered, giving Dean the washcloth back and left the bathroom.

Dean rinsed the cloth and hung it on the towel rack before following his sibling.

Sam sat down on his bed- the one furthest from the door- and stared at the television screen for a moment.

They had been watching an old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie together before a wave of nausea had forced Sam into the bathroom.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean encouraged, "We've seen this one a hundred times."

The teen did as he was told and laid down on his side, his back to the TV screen, closing his eyes.

Dean sat down on the end of his own bed and grabbed the remote, turning the volume down so the noise wouldn't bother his brother.

Dean watched the movie for a few minutes until Sam's breathing became slow and shallow. Turning, the nineteen-year old peered sadly at his sibling.

Sam had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia two months ago and had immediately began chemotherapy to try and combat the disease.

The doctors were confident though, that Sam would make a full recovery and that the cancer would go into remission.

Dean had been the one to notice something was seriously wrong with his brother.

Sam had gotten a fever that didn't diminish with Tylenol. John had insisted he was fine and told his youngest so suck it up. Then Sam had stopped eating. No appetite was the second thing that tipped Dean off. Sure Sam had never been a big eater- Dean was sure his short stature had something to do with it- but refusing meals altogether was unlike the fifteen-year old.

After a sparring session, Dean noticed odd bruises on his brother that he couldn't explain. Sure, they'd end up beating on each other every so often but the bruises didn't correspond with where Dean had hit his brother.

Then came the pain and fatigue. Sam became almost impossible to wake up in the mornings- even for school (something he never missed- and he began to complain of soreness in his knees and elbows.

Concerned that his brother had somehow come down with mono or something like that, Dean himself drove Sam to the local doctor's office and asked for tests.

Now Dean wished it had been 'the kissing disease' but instead it was cancer.

Oh the doctors weren't too worried. Many children survived the illness and went into remission for several years, living cancer-free.

But cancer was cancer; no matter the numbers.

And Dean was terrified.

W

Dean had never felt so useless- helpless- in his life. If it had been a ghost or a demon or werewolf threatening his brother, Dean would have taken it out; he would have known just what to do.

But this… this was something else.

Sam's life was no longer in his hands but the hands of strangers.

All Dean could do was be there for his brother. To comfort and support. To tell Sam that he would going to beat this. To drive him to and from his chemo sessions, to rub his back and murmur soothingly when he puked. To try and get him to eat even if he didn't want to. To ask all the questions Sam himself was too afraid to ask.

John had been beside himself when he had been told of Sam's diagnosis. He had talked to Sam's doctors for a long time after being given the news while his boys sat out in the hallway, waiting for him. John had even gone with them to Sam's first chemotherapy appointment, sitting on one side of his youngest son while Dean sat on the other.

It seemed as though their father was prepared to stay, to help both his sons get through this trial…

But then he vanished.

In the middle of the night.

Without a word.

Like a coward.

Sam had been devastated when he realized John wasn't coming back. Sure, their relationship had grown strained since Sam had started high school but to have his father walk away without so much as a 'good luck Sam, I know you'll kick this'… it hurt the fifteen-year old more than he'd like to admit.

Dean knew though. He had seen the crushed expression on Sam's face when they'd talked to their Dad on the cell, using speakerphone so they both could hear John's excuses.

W

Despite the doctors' assurances, it was hard to tell if the chemo was working. All it seemed to be doing was making Sam sicker.

Dean didn't understand it. Yes, the doctors had explained all about the chemotherapy, that it would poison and kill all the malignant cells in Sam's body, hopefully preventing them from creating more, if it worked as it should. But what Dean didn't understand was how pumping a sick person full of poison to kill pretty much everything was supposed to make them better.

Sighing, Dean returned his attention back to the television screen. He wasn't in the mood to watch Schwarzenegger riddle a bunch of bad guys with bullets.

Dean picked up the remote and pressed the OFF button.

He might as well get some rest while Sam was sleeping. He didn't like leaving Sam alone, even if it was just to get some shut-eye himself. Lying down on his back on his bed, Dean closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He hoped that when they woke up, Sam would be well enough to eat something that wouldn't come back a half-hour later.

SPN

Sam woke groggily, the drained feeling all too familiar.

Sitting up in bed, he rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Sam saw that Dean was fast asleep in his own bed.

Heeding the call of nature that had woken him, Sam stood and slowly made his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.

The fifteen-year old couldn't help but look at his reflection as he passed the mirror.

His face was thin and pale. He had dark circles under his eyes.

Sam turned on the tap and cupped his hands beneath the water, waiting for a moment before splashing the cool liquid on his face.

Closing his eyes, Sam ran his wet hands through his hair, pausing in shock when he brought his arms down and opened his eyes.

SPN

"DEAN!"

The nineteen-year old's eyes snapped open at the first frantic call.

"DEAN!"

He was halfway across the room as the second one sounded.

"DEAN!"

By the third, he had the bathroom door open and was staring at his baby brother.

Sam was standing in front of the sink- the tap still running- with his hands held out in front of him, palms upward.

Twin clumps of dark, longish strands of hair sat in Sam's hands, stuck to the skin with drying water.

"Dean," Sam whimpered and turned his head to look at him.

His brother's eyes were as large as saucers and welling with tears.

"It's okay," Dean said instantly, "It is. It's okay."

Stepping into the bathroom, he reached out and brushed his brother's hands off, sending the hair fluttering into the sink, onto the counter and floor.

Next, Dean grabbed Sam and hugged him, one hand at the back of his sibling's head.

"It's okay, Sammy," he murmured, "The doctors said this would probably happen. It means the chemo's working."

"Dean," Sam cried, seemingly unable to say anything else.

"Shh," he muttered, soothingly.

"I- I don't w-want my h-hair to fall out," Sam whimpered.

"It'll grow back, Sammy," he assured his brother.

That didn't comfort his sibling at all and Sam began to cry in earnest.

"C'mon Sammy," he said, "Let's go sit down. C'mon."

Dean extracted himself from his sibling and led Sam back into the main room, sitting down on the edge of his brother's bed.

Dean wrapped an arm around his brother's thin shoulders and Sam gratefully leaned in towards him.

Dean wasn't stupid. He knew this wasn't just about Sam losing his hair. Sam was scared. Hell, he was scared too.

But they had to keep fighting- Sam had to keep fighting- and one day they'd kick this cancer's ass.

"I d-don't feel good," Sam whispered sadly and Dean nodded, "I know, Sammy."

He hated not being able to do anything to help his brother. He hated not being able to take away the teen's fear and pain.

He wished he could. Dean wished that he were able to bear this burden for Sam.

He might not be able to carry the burden for his brother but he could carry Sam.

Dean would not leave his brother. He would not be a coward. He would remain at Sam's side until the doctors announced he was in remission.

Dean squeezed his brother in another hug, tears stinging his own eyes.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," he said, "I promise you. You will beat this thing. You're one of the strongest people I know and I know you will not let this thing get the better of you. You hear me?"

Sam nodded, his head against Dean's shoulder.

"Cancer will learn to fear the name Winchester," Dean continued, smiling when Sam chuckled a little.

Don't give up, little brother; Dean thought. You stay strong and get through this.

It might be a long time before Sam was declared free of cancer and Dean knew he'd be right there beside his brother the day that happened. He wasn't going anywhere. Sam had never abandoned him and he was not going to abandon his brother.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"You make me strong," the fifteen-year old replied and Dean had to close his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to overflow at the pronouncement.

Dean laughed and hugged his sibling all the more tightly, making Sam giggle.

For a moment. Just for a moment, Dean truly believed that everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the information about Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia from the Mayo Clinic's website and other Internet sources. If I have made any glaring errors, I apologize.


	17. Where There's Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Nehaaa: Set in Season 5 (Tag to "Free To Be You And Me" and "The End"). Dean calls Sam at the end of "The End" but his younger sibling refuses to join him again. Unknown to Dean, Sam is suffering from a serious injury that his is trying to hide from his older brother. Dean misinterprets Sam's reasons for wanting to remain separated and is angry, but feels guilty when he finds out the truth.

Dean bit his lip as Sam's cell phone rang and rang.

C'mon Sammy, he thought desperately, pick up!

"Why are you calling me?"

Dean's heart leaped at the sound of his brother's voice.

"Sam! Damn its good to hear from you! Listen, I have something really important to tell you," Dean exclaimed, relieved and excited that his brother hadn't just ignored his call.

Dean paused to give his sibling a chance to speak; when Sam said nothing he continued.

"Sam, I need you to come back. Okay? Forget everything I said earlier… that was stupid, I'm-" Dean began but his brother interrupted him.

"I can't," Sam replied simply.

Dean cleared his throat, "Sam, I'm kind of pouring my heart out to you here. I'm sorry, man. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I was wrong, you were right. I was being an idiot but I know better now."

"I can't, Dean," Sam repeated.

Dean frowned, "What do you mean you can't?"

"I thought about what you said," Sam answered, "We can't be together. You were right; we are each other's weakness. It's safer if we stay away from one another. It's safer if you stay away from me."

"But, Sam-" Dean tried again, utterly confused about the turn of events.

"Goodbye Dean," Sam replied and the phone went dead.

"Fuck this," the older brother growled and punched Sam's number in again, slamming a fist onto the Impala's steering wheel when the phone went straight to voicemail.

SPN

Sam sucked in a shaky breath and set the cell phone on the small dresser beside the hospital bed.

He lay back against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before placing his forearm across his eyes.

SPN

Dean threw his cell phone onto the seat beside him as Sam continued to refuse to answer his calls.

If Sam wanted to alienate himself that was fine by him.

Dean had tried to be the bigger man and call first. He wasn't going to hound his brother.

SPN

"How are you feeling?" Sam's doctor, a man named Stevenson, asked.

The hunter shrugged, rubbing his chest lightly, "The same."

"Hmm," Stevenson muttered and peered down at Sam's charts.

The doctor turned to the nurse who had come into the room with him, "Keep an eye on his oxygen levels, will you?"

The nurse nodded, "Yes, Doctor."

SPN

Dean drummed his fingers on the Impala's steering wheel, thinking.

He wanted to call Sam again, tell him of the future Zachariah had shown him, but he was afraid his brother would ignore him.

Sighing, Dean picked up his cell from the passenger's seat and dialed.

"Dean? Did we not just speak?" Castiel's gravelly voice asked on the other end.

"I know but I've got a favour to ask you," Dean told the angel.

"What do you need?" Castiel asked.

"Can you check up on Sam for me?" the older brother asked.

"Were you not talking to him earlier?" the angel asked, confused.

"I did call and we did talk but Sam doesn't want to come back," Dean explained, trying to quell the anger that rose up in his chest as he thought about the conversation.

"Did you tell him about-" Cas began but Dean interrupted.

"No, Cas, I didn't, Sam didn't give me a chance to explain," Dean almost snarled at the angel, "Can you just go find him and see what's up?"

"You know that will be difficult with the Enochian symbols; it may take a while," Castiel warned him.

"That's okay," Dean said and pulled into the parking lot of a motel that had its VACANCY sign shining bright, "I'll wait."

"Be careful, Dean," the angel said, "Zachariah may still be searching for you."

"Don't worry, Dean assured his friend, "I will be."

SPN

Tim held up a glass vial containing a dark red liquid.

"What is that?" Sam asked, even though he had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what it was.

"What do you think it is? It's go juice, Sammy-boy."

The young man took an involuntary step back, "Get that away from me."

He tried to divide his attention between Tim- holding the demon blood- and Reggie- holding Lindsey- and be ready for either of them to move first.

Tim raised a blond eyebrow, "Away from you? This is for you. Hell if that demon wasn't right as rain. Down the hatch, son."

"You're insane!" Sam snapped, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

Tim sighed, "Here's what's going to happen: you're gonna drink this, Hulk-out, and you're gonna waste every piece of demon scum that killed my best friend."

Sam watched as the blond hunter nodded at Lindsey. Reggie grabbed one of the waitress's arms, slammed it down onto the top of the counter and shoved a handcuff over her wrist, cuffing her to the bar.

"Or," Tim continued nonchalantly, "She dies."

Sam's eyes widened; were they really threatening to kill a civilian? Someone who had never done anything to them?

"You wouldn't do that," he said.

Tim chuckled slightly, "It's funny how watching your best friend die changes that."

The two hunters began to walk towards Sam and the younger man backed away.

Tim dangled the vial of blood between his thumb and forefinger, an arm's length from his body, "Come on, you know you want it, Sam. Just reach out and take it."

Reggie suddenly charged, rushing at Sam like a bull. The younger hunter grabbed the dark-skinned man as soon as he was close and threw him towards one of the pool tables. Reggie hit the side of the table with a grunt but quickly recovered.

Both he and Tim pounced on Sam; Reggie holding the younger man's arms behind his back while the blond hunter poured vial's contents into Sam's mouth and covering it for a long moment.

After what must have been a minute, Tim and Reggie back away from Sam.

Sam straightened, his hair obscuring his eyes, a smear of blood on his face.

"There, was that really so bad?" Tim asked, his tone condescending.

Sam spat, catching Tim full in the face, and attacked, punching the blond hunter and then his accomplice. Grabbing Tim by the collar of his jacket, Sam slammed him into the bar, hard, and picked up Reggie's abandoned knife.

Holding the weapon to Tim's throat, Sam can feel adrenaline coursing through his veins and anger churning in his stomach.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Lindsey, the girl's eyes wide with horror and Sam lowers the weapon.

Hurting Tim and Reggie would only prove that he was like them. No, he can't kill them, even though he wants to, in the heat of the moment.

Tossing the knife over the bar and onto the floor on the other side, Sam shoved Tim in Reggie's direction.

"Go," he said simply.

Tim, straightening his jacket, glared at Sam.

"You'll wish you hadn't done that," he threatened, "You'll wish you'd done what we asked."

"Go!" Sam shouted and took a menacing step forward.

Both hunters backed away and fled from the bar, the front door slamming behind them.

Sam slumped slightly, exhausted. He wiped at his face and turned to look at Lindsey.

"Get out!" she shrieked even as she tugged uselessly at the handcuff attaching her to the bar, "Or I'll call the police."

Sam wanted to try and explain- whatever she thought had just happened it was probably not as bad- but he didn't want to get into trouble with the law. That was the last thing he needed.

Turning away from the girl, Sam began to walk across the bar when suddenly one of the front windows was broken as a Molotov cocktail was flung into the building to hit the floor and smash, sending flaming liquid streaming across the wooden floorboards.

Seconds later, a half-dozen more incendiaries crashed through the windows, spreading flames ruthlessly across the floor and pool tables.

Lindsey screamed and Sam ran to her, the girl tugging helplessly at the handcuff.

"Get me out of here! Please!" she begged Sam as he approached her.

Patting his jacket pockets, Sam found his lock-pick kit and pulled it out.

"I'm going to help you but you have to stay still," he said, choosing one of the thin pieces of wire and holding it up, "Can you do that?"

Lindsey nodded, "Just get me out of here."

Sam placed one hand over the girl's wrist to hold the cuff ready and crouched down so that he had a better angle.

"Please hurry," Lindsey whimpered.

Flames were rapidly eating up the floor, creeping towards them. Thick black smoke was beginning to rise, replacing the oxygen.

Lindsey coughed, shaking, forcing Sam to pause until she had stopped.

Sweat dripped into Sam's eyes and he blinked it away. Picking a locked door in the middle of the night was nothing compared to this. Sam's instincts were telling him to run- get away from the fire- but he couldn't- wouldn't- leave Lindsey.

Feeling drained both physically and emotionally; Sam could barely concentrate on the task at hand.

"Why's it t-taking so l-long?" Lindsey asked, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Sam didn't bother to answer. He needed to focus.

Lindsey coughed again, her free hand covering her mouth.

"Crouch down," Sam instructed, "There's more air lower to the ground."

Nodding, Lindsey did as Sam suggested, one hand raised where it remained cuffed to the bar.

Sam doubled over suddenly as he coughed, his lungs burning.

"Sam!" Lindsey cried, "Sam! Please! Hurry!"

Lifting his head, Sam saw that the flames had nearly reached them. He could feel their searing heat against his back.

"I'm going to get you out but," Sam promised, "But I need to hurt you."

Lindsey blinked and looked at her cuffed hand, "Do it. Get me the hell out of here."

Sam nodded and stood, his head swimming from lack of oxygen.

"Hold your arm out," he wheezed, blinking acrid smoke from his eyes.

Lindsey did as she was told and clenched her eyes shut.

Sam raised his foot and brought his boot down on the girl's hand, hearing bone crunch as he broke her thumb.

Lindsey shrieked and instantly drew her hand towards herself- not even realizing she had slipped it through the handcuff.

Sam grabbed the girl's shoulder and crouched down, "T-The staff entrance should be c-c-clear."

Nodding, holding her injured hand against her chest Lindsey led the way around the bar towards the exit.

Sam began to follow but then he felt a wave of vertigo so strong he was forced to stop.

Lindsey didn't notice Sam wasn't following and reached the employee's entrance only to turn around and find herself alone.

"Sam? Sam!"

Through the smoke she could see the young man sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

W

Sam had woken up in the hospital hours later. He had first and second-degree burns on his arms and back and the inside of his nose and throat had been singed. The worst damage however, had been to his lungs. They were badly burned and the doctors were certain they were going to scar.

Sam didn't feel very much pain- Dr. Stevenson was making sure he got the good stuff- but he was already feeling the effects of his damaged lungs.

A nasal cannula brought extra oxygen into his body but it just didn't seem to be enough. Sam felt weak and tired, his body telling him it wasn't getting the oxygen it needed.

Sam couldn't return to Dean like this. Not when he was finding it a struggle just to breathe. How the hell was he supposed to hunt like this?

No, it was better if he and Dean remained separate.

He'd just slow his brother down anyway.

W

Sam leaned forward and coughed, the reflex making his lungs burn painfully.

Groaning miserably, Sam laid back down and closed his eyes, trying to sleep.

SPN

Dean sat on the edge of the motel bed staring at his cell phone. Waiting for Cas to call.

Sam had been the one to phone him, tell him about Lucifer, so why didn't he want back in? Why wasn't he ecstatic to find that Dean wanted him by his side again?

Maybe he's just pissed, Dean thought, you did say some harsh things to him.

Dean shook his head; none of it had been untrue though. Dean had been brutally honest.

Just see what Cas has to say when he calls.

SPN

Sam didn't stir when the angel appeared in his hospital room.

Castiel stepped forward, taking in the young man's pale face, the cannula, the bandages.

The angel's eyes widened.

Sam Winchester had been injured and he didn't want Dean with him?

That was extremely unusual behaviour.

Walking forward slowly, Castiel reached out and touched a hand lightly to Sam's brow, using what little power he could muster to see what had happened to the young man.

-"Sam! Sam! Come on! Get up!" Lindsey called, her good hand on the door handle.

Over the roar of the flames she could hear the wail of approaching sirens.

She needed to get out. But she didn't want to leave Sam. Strange as he was- dangerous as he may be- he had saved her.

"I'll get you help," she promised and exited the building.

Running around the side of the building, Lindsey saw a bright red fire truck pull into the parking lot.

"Here! Hey!" Lindsey called, catching the attention of the firefighters.

"There's a guy still in there!" she announced, "He's unconscious!"

While the other firefighters rushed towards the building, one took Lindsey's elbow and led her towards the ambulance that had followed them-

Castiel lowered his hand and looked down at the young man for a long moment.

Turning away, the angel took his cell phone out, calling Sam's brother.

SPN

Dean picked his cell up the instant it rang.

"Where are you staying?" Cas asked before he could speak.

Dean rattled off the name of the motel, "What's going on with Sam?"

"I believe it would be better if we spoke in person," the angel answered and ended the call.

Dean lowered his phone.

Oh hell, what had Sam done now?

He looked up at the sound of fluttering wings and Castiel appeared suddenly.

"What's happened?" Dean stood up and asked before he caught sight of the expression on his friend's face.

"Cas? What? What is it?" Dean asked, his heart squeezing in his chest.

"Sam has been injured," the angel told him and Dean's blood ran cold.

"How?" he asked, "Take me to him!"

The angel didn't react, "Would you like me to explain how Sam came by his injuries or do you wish to see him?"

"I- Tell me!" Dean snapped, irritated.

The angel told Dean what he had seen from Sam's memory; the attack by Tim and Reggie, trying to free Lindsey from the handcuffs, the young man falling behind and passing out.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Dean asked, hurt.

"You will have to ask him that yourself," Castiel answered.

"Take me to him," the older brother demanded, "Now."

SPN

Sam woke groggily and stared up in shock at Dean's face floating only inches above his own, tears in his sibling's hazel eyes.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed and sat up, causing his brother to back up.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked as he peered around the darkened room. It was the middle of the night- visiting hours long over- and he did not want one of the nurses coming in to check on him unexpectedly.

"I'm here to see you," Dean replied matter-of-factly, eyeing all the medical contraptions Sam was hooked up to.

Sam gaped at his brother, at a loss for words.

"Cas told me about the fire," Dean prompted, "So you can skip that part."

"What I want to know is, why didn't you tell me you were here," Dean continued, "And when can I take you home?"

"Dean," Sam began but was stopped by a sudden coughing fit.

The young man felt his brother's hand on his back as he shook.

Clearing his throat, Sam blinked his watery eyes and continued, "I can't help you anymore. I can't hunt. My doctor says the damage to my lungs is permanent."

Dean didn't look convinced; he raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I'm useless," Sam muttered.

"Bobby's paralyzed from the waist down but he's not useless," Dean told him.

"Bobby hasn't really hunted in a while, Dean," Sam argued, "He mostly does research now anyway."

"And what do you do, Geek-boy?" Dean asked, one side of his mouth quirked up.

Sam lowered his head.

"How bad is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, serious now.

"I'll probably have to be on oxygen," Sam answered quietly, "And I won't be running marathons anytime soon."

Dean's eyes pinched.

"That's okay," he said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder, "It'll be okay."

Sam hunched forward protectively.

"I don't see how," he muttered, "I can't beat the Devil like this."

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder and his brother looked up.

"Sure you can, Sammy," he said, "You said you already told him to go fuck himself. That's a start. As long as you can keep that up, you're already beating the bastard."

Sam smiled slightly.

"Dean, perhaps we should return at a more convenient time," Castiel suggested, "I do not believe that hospitals allow overnight visitors and there is a nurse walking this way now."

Dean nodded, "We'll be back, Sammy. First thing in the morning."

Cas touched Dean's arm and they both vanished.

Moments later, the door to Sam's room opened and the nurse peered inside.

"Is everything alright?" she asked concernedly.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I was going right back to sleep."

The nurse smiled and closed the door again.

Sam leaned back and let out a shaky breath.

Dean didn't think he was useless. Dean wanted to be with him still.

Tears pricked at the corners of Sam's eyes and he quickly wiped them away.

Why hadn't he just told Dean in the first place? Why had he been so scared of his brother's reaction?

SPN

Dean couldn't believe he'd been pissed at Sam. His brother hadn't told him about the fire for a good reason- Sam had thought Dean would overreact like he always did- and Dean couldn't help but feel guilty because of it.

The young man glanced at the angel who had not left the motel room, "Am I a bad brother?"

Castiel looked at Dean for a long moment, "Is a mountain bad if it spews magma?"

Dean frowned, confused.

"Are you trying to insult me?" he asked.

Cas just stared at him.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, "I am."

"You did not know the circumstances," Castiel reminded him.

Dean scowled, "I've fallen into that trap before. Not knowing the circumstances so I blow up, expecting the worst of Sam."

Castiel's expression turned sympathetic but he said nothing more.

"Are you staying here?" Dean asked, "'Cause I'm going to get some rest before heading back to the hospital tomorrow."

The angel nodded and Dean turned out the light, lying down on his bed.

W

Dean glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye.

His brother was looking out the window and hadn't noticed him.

Dean sighed inwardly at the sight of Sam's pale, drawn features, a nasal cannula running to the canister of oxygen sitting between his brother's feet.

Dr. Stevenson had been right; Sam couldn't even walk down the hallway without gasping for air like a fish out of water.

So now Sam had to drag a tank of oxygen along with him wherever he went. Not a great way to attract chicks.

But Dean wasn't going to complain.

It could have been a hell of a lot worse.

Sam could have succumbed to smoke inhalation before help got to him.

At least Dean had a brother, even if he sounded out of breath even though he was just sitting in the Impala.

"What?" Sam asked, finally noticing Dean's scrutiny.

"Nothing," Dean replied instantly, turning his full attention back to the road.

A moment passed before Dean spoke again, feeling the words needed to be said out loud, "It's good to have you back, Sammy."


	18. Tag, You're It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Sylvie91: Sam (12 years old) has had epilepsy since he was a baby and Dean (16 years old) is confident he knows what triggers his brother's seizures. Dean takes Sam to play laser tag and finds out it was a bad idea.

"How'd you convince Dad to let us come here?" Sam asked excitedly as he stared at grey building with a multicoloured neon sign that read 'Shoot To Thrill' along the top.

"I told Dad it was good practice," Dean explained as he parked the Impala and turned off the engine, "Help with training."

Sam grinned broadly, "This is so cool."

Dean smiled, glad that his brother was so stoked about doing something as normal as going to play laser tag.

Because most of the time Sam didn't feel like a normal kid.

Sam had had epilepsy since he'd been a baby, experiencing his first seizure when he was only weeks old.

John and Mary had been terrified, naturally, but had become even more so when the doctors told them that there wasn't really anything they could do for their son until he was older. So the Winchesters had waited, rushing their youngest son to the hospital whenever he had a seizure and praying that the doctors would be able to help him in time.

But then Mary died and John became obsessed with finding her murderer. Sam took a backseat in his father's list of priorities.

The anticonvulsant medications that Sam could have taken to prevent seizures were far too expensive for his father to pay for so the Winchesters just had to make do. Dean became Sam's watchdog. He knew what triggered Sam's seizures and only really ever let younger sibling out of his sight when they were in school.

Sam sometimes had seizures in school. Sometimes they weren't the serious ones- a focal seizure- but other times, he'd have a full-fledged grand mal. When that happened, Dean would have to take his brother back to the motel room, Sam confused and exhausted from the ordeal.

As a result, Sam never had many friends. The kids in his class would call him names and refuse to include him in their games.

Being able to go to a laser tag game and pretend that he wasn't sick, that his brain didn't have faulty wiring, would make Sam's day and Dean knew it.

It had been difficult convincing John to let Sam go in the first place. But Dean was adamant. Flashing lights didn't trigger Sam's seizures. He had been on hunts before, in the woods in the middle of the night with both his father and brother waving their flashlights around like mad and nothing ever happened. Eventually Dean had won, mostly, he thought, because John had tired of trying to talk him out of going.

"Just be careful," the eldest Winchester had advised, "And watch out for your brother."

Dean had smirked, "Don't I always?"

SPN

Sam was out of the Impala as soon as Dean parked it.

He couldn't believe their Dad had agreed to this! This was amazing!

"Hold on, Sammy, wait for me," Dean said as he climbed out of the vehicle.

"Hurry up, Dean," Sam replied, stepping from foot to foot.

Dean chuckled, "What's the rush? The building isn't going anywhere."

The brothers made their way across the parking lot, Sam breaking into a sprint as soon as his feet touched the sidewalk and entered the building ahead of his brother.

The lobby reminded Sam of the ones movie theatres had, only without the posters or concession stands. The floor was covered in a dark purple carpet while the walls were painted a light blue.

Dean walked up to one of the cashiers and began talking to her.

She nodded and grabbed two vests that were hanging on the wall behind her.

"C'mere Sammy," Dean called and Sam went over to him.

"Here you go," his brother said and handed him the smaller of the two vests, "Does it fit?"

Sam shrugged into the vest, made up the same material as the straps on a backpack- and closed the plastic buckles.

"Yeah," Sam replied, smiling.

"Good," Dean said, putting his own vest on.

Once they were ready, the girl a handed them their laser guns. They were made of plastic and very lightweight.

"Ready Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

SPN

The interior of the laser tag area was dark, with black paint on the walls and ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark paint in pink, blue, green and blue accented the area. There were other kids already inside, running and screaming, their own vests glowing in various colours.

Dean turned his head to tell his brother to be careful but Sam was already gone.

Shaking his head, Dean chuckled.

"Ready or not, Sammy! I'm coming for ya!" he shouted, holding his gun out in front of him.

W

Damn, Sammy's good at this; Dean thought as he searched for his brother.

He had been walking through the area for the last eight minutes, neither seeing nor hearing his sibling.

Music pounded through the speakers overhead- adding to the confusion of lights and sounds- and Dean frowned, a headache beginning to throb behind his eyes.

"Sammy! C'mon man," Dean called, "This is supposed to be Tag! Not Hide and Seek!"

"Watch out!" he heard a kid's voice cry out and the cackle of laughter.

Dean scowled. Someone had decided to have their kid's birthday party here and there were about twenty ten-year olds running around high on sugar.

Two of the guests, still wearing polka-dotted party hats, sprinted past Dean, squealing with glee.

Shaking his head, the sixteen-year old moved forwards, continuing to search for his shaggy-haired sibling.

"Whoa!" a boy's voice exclaimed and a cacophony of somewhat uneasy laughter followed.

"What's wrong with him?" a girl's voice asked loudly.

"Stay out of his way!" another boy's voice jokingly announced, followed by laughter once again.

Dean frowned and turned the corner, pausing for a moment when he saw a crowd of kids gathered around something on the ground.

Dean approached the gathering, his heart beginning to beat faster.

Peering over the heads of the kids, Dean swore out loud and began to push his way through them.

"Shit," he snarled and shoved two boys out of his way.

"Hey! Who're you?" a girl asked indignantly but Dean ignored her.

Dropping to his knees by his brother's side, Dean quickly checked over his sibling. Sam was thrashing violently, his eyes rolled up into his head and his jaw clenched tight enough to make the muscles spasm if they weren't as tense as stone.

"Is he dying?" a scared girl's voice asked from the crowd.

"Should someone get an adult?" another girl asked but Dean was focused solely on his brother.

Slowly Sam's flailing became less and less pronounced until he was barely twitching.

He knew Sam would be exhausted and weak when he regained consciousness. Reaching over, he carefully slid his arms underneath his brother, frowning at the feeling of warm wetness beneath him.

"Ah Sammy," Dean murmured as he picked his brother up.

Sam had lost control of his bladder in the midst of the seizure; something that always caused him great shame if he found out about it.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Is he dead?"

"Why was he flopping around like that?"

Dean gritted his teeth as the kids from the birthday followed him, asking him questions.

"He's fine," Dean ground out and the kids fell away, pouting because he refused to answer their questions.

Dean made his way out of the laser tag area quickly. The girl at the cash register looked up, her expression turning to one of alarm as Dean approached.

"Oh my God! Is he alright? Should I call an ambulance?"

Dean shook his head, "He has epilepsy. He just had a seizure. I'm going to take him home."

The girl nodded. Dean came over to the counter and sat Sam on it. The twelve-year old listed to one side but Dean kept one hand on his brother as he took the laser tag vest off.

Shrugging out of his own vest, Dean picked up his brother again and headed out the door.

"D'n?" Sam muttered and squinted in the bright daylight as Dean crossed the parking lot.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured.

The twelve-year old nodded slowly and rested his head against his brother's chest, closing his eyes.

W

Dean looked at John for a long moment before turning his gaze to his brother, lying in bed.

"I don't even know what happened," Dean confessed, "Everything was going well…"

"I thought Sam wasn't affected by lights," John said.

Dean nodded, "Me too."

Wiping a hand down his face, Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed, "At least it wasn't as bad as the last one."

John nodded, picking up his beer bottle to take a sip.

During Sam's last grand mal he had been at school and his teacher, a woman in her late fifties, had tried put a ruler in Sam's mouth because she had heard that people could swallow their tongues when in a fit. The thin plastic ruler had cut into the corners of Sam's mouth and he had a couple of chipped teeth.

Dean looked over at his brother when he heard Sam groan. Getting up, he went and sat down on the bed beside his brother.

"Hey Sammy," he murmured, brushing his sibling's bangs away from his brow, "How're you feeling?"

Sam's face was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Tired," he whispered.

"Just get some sleep," Dean told him, "You'll feel better after you've rested."

Sam's eyes began to close again but suddenly opened wide, "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" he asked, peering down at his sibling.

"I had fun today."

Dean chuckled and ruffled his brother's hair, "Get some rest, Sammy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the information about Epilepsy on the Mayo Clinic's website.


	19. It's All Downhill From Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from 'detectivehunter' who wanted a fic where Sam and Dean get into an argument during a hunt and Dean pushes Sam, injuring him.   
> I've set this pre-series. Sam is 18 and just finishing high school and Dean is 22.

Dean squinted through the dark forest, picking his way carefully over fallen branches and leaves.

Sam walked beside him, a few feet away; one hand gripping his weapon while the other pointed a flashlight.

John could not be seen by either of his sons; he was coming in from the opposite direction, trying to ambush the creature they were hunting. Their quarry was a nymph-like being related to the Germanic spirit, Askafroa. She protected ash trees, bringing illness and death to whomever harmed them.

The Winchesters had become involved when a number of city workers from the town of Creston had died from a mysterious sickness after cutting down the ash trees in the nearby forest slated to be demolished and turned into a mall. After hours of research they had figured out what was killing the workers and how to destroy it. Ironically, stabbing the ash-tree guardian with a stake made of ash would kill her.

Sam had been moody ever since this hunt had started. He didn't think they should kill the spirit who was doing nothing but protecting her forest. He didn't think that the town needed a mall.

"Our job is to kill the monsters, Sam, not save them," John had argued with his youngest as they prepared to leave earlier that evening.

"But the spirit is only trying to protect her home!" Sam had replied, "It would be like getting a knock on the door and some guy in a suit tells you to get out of your house because they're going to put a convenience store there instead."

"It's killed people, Sam, don't you get that? It's dangerous!" John had responded angrily.

"Because some assholes from the city are cutting down the trees!" Sam had snapped.

Of course he felt bad for the workers who had died, but they shouldn't have been there in the first place, in his opinion.

"Creston doesn't even need another mall!" he exclaimed.

"Our job is to stop monsters, Sam," John growled, "Not tell city officials what they should and shouldn't do. You want to go and explain why they shouldn't cut down the forest, then feel free to do so."

Sam hadn't moved from his spot.

"That's what I thought," John replied smugly, "Pack your stuff, we're heading out in ten minutes."

W

Dean hadn't said anything during the argument. He hardly ever spoke once his father and brother really started going at it. All he could do was stay out of the way and try not to be forced into picking sides.

He wished Sam had just kept his fucking mouth shut about the trees; he knew what John was like so why did he have to goad him all the time?

"Dean?" Sam whispered from beside him, pulling the twenty-two year old from his thoughts.

"What, Sam?" Normally they would have split up for a hunt like this so that they' be able to cover more ground and prevent their prey from escaping but John had demanded Sam stay with Dean. Dean was sure it was because their father thought Sam would end up hugging trees instead of doing his job.

"I have to tell you something," Sam replied quietly.

Dean sighed, "Do you really think now is a good time?"

"I can't wait anymore," Sam answered.

Dean stopped walking and faced his brother, suddenly concerned though he wasn't quite sure why.

"What is it Sammy?"

The younger man took a deep breath; "I got a full-ride to Stanford, Dean. The letter came in the mail two days ago."

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment; he was trying to wrap his head around what his brother had just said.

"Okay, sure," he replied, "Good for you."

Sam cringed a little bit, "I'm not staying after I graduate, Dean. I got a scholarship to one of the best colleges in the country. I'm going to go to school. I want to become a lawyer."

Dean blinked and frowned.

"Y-You're not serious," he said and took a step forward, "You can't go."

Sam shook his head, "I've never been more serious. I can't take it anymore, Dean. This life… hunting… it isn't for me. I still want to help people but just in a different way."

"You can't go," Dean repeated, "We need you here."

Sam frowned, "You don't need me. You and Dad are better hunters than I'll ever be. You'll do fine without me around."

Dean took another step forward. He could feel anger beginning to boil in his veins.

Sam wanted to leave!

Sam didn't want to hunt!

Sam was going to abandon him!

"No!" Dean snarled, moving closer and closer to his sibling, "You can't go!"

Sam's expression turned to one of confusion and he took a step back.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, "I thought you'd understand. I thought you'd be happy for me."

Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's arms, "Happy?! Why the hell would I be happy you're going away? Why don't you want to stay? Why don't you want to find the thing that killed our mother and kill it? Did you forget about her?"

Sam's eyes were wide with bewilderment and alarm.

"No, Dean, of course not but I-" he began but Dean shook him roughly, interrupting him.

"You're selfish, that's what you are!" Dean yelled, "You're rather live in your own fantasy world and forget everything about us- about hunting- about what's really out there!"

"Dean, let me go! That's not what I'm saying!" Sam tried to raise his arms to push his brother away but the twenty-two year old moved first.

Dean shoved Sam backwards, releasing the younger man as he did so, hoping that his brother would fall back.

And Sam did. He fell to the ground and kept falling.

With a cry of surprise, Sam tumbled down the steep embankment, unable to stop himself.

SPN

Sam scrabbled to grab onto a root, a stone, anything to stop his descent but he just kept falling.

He cried out in pain as he hit rocks and branches, his clothes and hair covered in mud and leaves.

Sam landed at the bottom of the embankment on the edge of a sluggish, shallow stream. He blinked mud and blood away from his eyes and tried to pull himself up.

"Ah!" he gasped in pain and sank back down, his vision darkening.

"D'n!" he cried even though it was his brother who had pushed him.

"Help!" he called out before his eyes closed of their own accord and he slipped away from consciousness.

SPN

Dean's chest heaved with anger, his hands curled into fists as he stared at the spot Sam had been only moments before.

"Sam!" he shouted, because how dare his brother run away after telling him something like that!

The adrenaline was draining away quickly- and with it the rage Dean felt- leaving the twenty-two year old to stare about confusedly.

"Sam?" he called out, frowning when he received no answer.

"Sammy?" Dean called again, patting his jacket pockets for a flashlight but finding none.

"Sammy!"

You pushed him. He was trying to talk to you and you pushed him away. Literally.

Dean inched forward, pausing when the toes of his boots felt nothing but open space.

He'd shoved Sam down an embankment he hadn't seen.

"Sammy? Are you okay?" Dean called, one hand cupped around his mouth to try and make his voice louder, "Answer me!"

"Shit," Dean swore when there again came no response from below.

"Okay, Sammy, I'm coming," Dean muttered, "Just hold on."

Turning to his side, Dean began to inch his way down the muddy embankment, using one hand to grab onto protruding branches or roots or stones while his other was held out to help keep his balance.

W

Dean fell once. Sliding a good five feet before managing to stop himself and pull himself to his feet.

"Fuck," he muttered, cold mud seeping through his jeans and the back of his shirt.

"Sammy!" he called out again and crept forwards once more, jumping when his boot hit something that began rolling away from him.

"Hey!" Dean dove down and grabbed the object. It was Sam's flashlight!

Caked with mud, the lens didn't let any light shine through but when Dean wiped it with the sleeve of his jacket, a bright white beam cut through the gloom.

Pointing it down towards the bottom of the ravine, Dean searched frantically for his sibling.

"Sam!" he shouted when he caught sight of his brother's dark green jacket, mud-stained and damp, at the water's edge.

Running the rest of the way down the embankment, Dean picked up speed once he hit level ground and reached Sam's side in what seemed like seconds.

The eighteen-year old was lying face down on the damp, cold ground. His clothes were caked with mud, his hair wet hair sticking to his pale face.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Please don't be dead, Dean begged silently, I take back everything I said earlier, just don't be dead.

Slowly a pair of green eyes opened and Dean heard his brother groan in pain.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed happily.

His sibling's eyes were glassy, the pupils shrunk almost to the size of pinpricks. He almost definitely had a concussion.

"D'n?" he moaned tiredly, trying to get up.

"Sam," Dean said and grabbed his brother under the armpits to help him sit.

"Ah!" Sam cried out and curled in on himself.

Dean cringed and lifted his brother's shirt and jacket.

"I think you've broken some ribs," he told his sibling.

Sam just blinked sluggishly at him. A gash on his brow had leaked blood down the side of his face and into his left eye.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" Dean asked, poking and prodding his sibling.

"W-Why'd you push me?" Sam asked in a tiny voice.

Dean glanced up at his brother, "It was an accident, Sammy."

Sam made an attempt to glare at him, "Y-You pushed me d-down the hill."

"I didn't know we were on the edge of a ravine, Sammy," Dean told him, "Now, c'mon, we've gotta get back up."

Dean tugged at Sam's arm, forcing him up. Sam followed, hissing in pain at the movement.

"M-my leg hurts," Sam announced and sank back down to the ground.

"C'mon Sam," Dean egged, "Get up."

Sam blinked up at him, teary-eyed.

"I h-hurt my leg," Sam whimpered.

Dean crouched down and shone the flashlight on his brother's leg. Dark red blood coated the pant leg from the knee downwards.

"Fuck me," Dean swore, raised his eyes to the sky as if to say 'can it get any worse?'

"I've gotta see your leg, Sammy," Dean said and pulled at Sam's boot, carefully easing it off and grimacing at the squelching sound it made as his brother's blood-soaked sock and foot came out.

Carefully rolling Sam's pant leg up, Dean hissed in sympathy at the sight of the large gash that ran up Sam's calf.

That was definitely going to need stitches.

"I'm going to put a tourniquet on your leg so it stops bleeding so much," Dean said and Sam nodded tiredly.

Reaching down, Dean grabbed the hem of his own shirt- protected somewhat from the mud by his leather jacket- and tore the hem until a long strip came off.

He quickly tied the fabric around his sibling's leg, just beneath his knee.

Sam couldn't walk with his leg like that so Dean panned the flashlight around the bottom of the embankment until he saw a fallen tree branch. Leaving his brother's side for a moment, Dean retrieved the branch, quickly snapping off the smaller twigs and handed it to Sam.

"Try using this," he said slowly.

Sam took the branch and stood carefully, swaying for a moment before steadying.

"We have to get up the hill," Dean said, "How are you're ribs feeling?"

"Hurt," Sam muttered tiredly, "When can I sleep?"

"When we get back to the Impala," Dean told him, moving closer to his sibling's side.

Dean took a deep breath, "Okay, let's do this."

W

The side of the embankment seemed almost to be a ninety-degree drop and it was slippery as hell.

Dean walked bent over, grabbing onto anything he could reach to keep from sliding back down.

Sam struggled beside him, whimpering in pain every so often.

"Keep going, Sammy," Dean encouraged, "You're doing great."

"M'tired, Dean," Sam muttered.

"I know you are," Dean replied, eyes glued to the top of the hill, "You can rest when we get up there."

Going down was much easier than going up. It seemed to take twice as long as well.

Dean wondered if their father had found the spirit yet and if he was wondering where they were.

Too bad they didn't get any reception out here or Dean would have told John to call of the hunt and get his ass over to help with Sam.

"I told you," Sam spoke up now, breathing heavily from exertion and pain.

"Huh?" Dean muttered distractedly. He was trying to think of how he'd get Sam up over the ridge. Maybe he'd go first and pull his brother up after him, yeah, that would work.

"I told you… about S-Stanford because I th-thought you'd have my b-back."

Dean glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. Sam wasn't looking at him, his eyes, although staring straight ahead, were still glassy.

Dean felt a pang of guilt at his brother's words. Dean had always stuck up for Sam, ever since they were little, he had always defended him, from bullies or their Dad, Dean had always had his brother's back. Until now, it seemed.

"I… thought you'd be happy f-for me," Sam continued, his voice faint, "That I w-was getting out of this life."

"Sammy," Dean said but then stopped. It wouldn't matter what he said right now, with his concussion; Sam would forget it.

"I was stupid, okay? I wasn't thinking," Dean continued, "I am happy for you. You did a damn good job getting into Stanford. I'm glad you did."

Sam staggered and Dean grabbed him before he could fall.

"Easy does it," he murmured, "We're almost at the top."

Sam nodded; his head hung low, and continued walking.

"It's just… I'm scared, Sammy," Dean went on, "You know I never even finished high school and here you are… on your way to college!"

"Hmm," Sam muttered.

"You ought to be proud, Sammy," Dean continued, "I am proud of you… even if I didn't show it earlier."

"Sleepy," Sam murmured.

"We're almost there, Sammy, hold on," Dean told him.

Both brothers remained silent as they climbed the last few feet. Dean slipped over the top first before reaching over and pulling Sam up. Panting and exhausted, the brothers sat on the forest floor, back to back for a long moment.

"I said I was scared," Dean spoke up, "And I am… not just because you're doing things I never could but… because I don't want to lose you."

"Time to sleep now?" Sam asked, sliding down to the ground as he did so.

"Not yet, Sammy, we've gotta get to the car," Dean stood and helped his brother up.

"C'mon Sam, this way," Dean said and took hold of his brother's elbow, leading him back the way they had come.

There was no way they could fight the spirit with Sam so injured. No, the best thing was to get to the Impala and wait for their father. Either John would take care of the tree guardian by himself or he'd realize his sons weren't there and return to the car. Either way, he'd meet them at the Impala.

"If you're all the way in California how am I going to keep you safe?" Dean asked.

"Mmm," Sam muttered in response.

"I can't protect you if you're a hundred miles away," Dean continued.

"I know you'll say you'll be fine," Dean said, "But we both know you're a magnet for trouble."

"Just look at tonight," he said in a quieter tone, "We haven't even seen our monster and you end up getting hurt."

"Dean," Sam said, blinking blearily at his brother, "I'm not leaving you."

Dean smiled sadly.

"Not yet you aren't," he replied.

"I d-don't want to lose you," Sam told him, his expression serious, "I don't want you to think I-I'm never coming back."

Dean didn't respond, not knowing what to say.

"Please don't leave me," Sam whispered in a desperate tone.

Dean's eyes stung with sudden tears. He knew it was probably only the concussion talking but Sam's words cut him.

"I'm not going to leave you, Sammy," he assured his brother, "Never."

Dean looked up and saw the gravel road that led into the forest and breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the Impala shining coldly in the moonlight.

"I'm never going to leave you, Sammy," Dean muttered, "So don't you leave me."


	20. Act Of Hope, Leap Of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from ComberferreWinchester: Sam has a very weak immune system and is constantly sick. Dean is constantly worried about his brother's health.   
> Set in Season One as an AU to "Faith" (S.1, E.12). Instead of Dean getting electrocuted and damaging his heart, he takes Sam to see the faith healer, Roy Le Grange.

Dean glanced over at his brother sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala.

"How you feeling?" he asked gently, knowing that Sam probably felt as good as he looked; which was like shit.

"Better than before," Sam mumbled but he was still curled in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

"We'll stop in a little while," Dean assured him and turned up the music on the radio.

W

It seemed that ever since Sam was a baby he'd been sick. While still an infant he'd been plagued by a series of ear infections and chronic diarrhea. He barely gained any weight and cried almost all the time.

Worried for their youngest son, Mary and John had taken Sam to the hospital. Although they were not new parents, the Winchesters were nonetheless frightened by their youngest son's failure to thrive. The doctors ran a battery of tests and informed the mother and father of their findings.

Sam's immune system was compromised, which pretty much meant that it had decided not to work. The doctors hadn't been optimistic; they gave the infant less than a year to live. He'd get a severe infection that his body wouldn't be able to fight and that'd be it.

Devastated, Mary and John took their youngest home, at a loss as to what to do to help their baby boy. Not wanting to separate their sons, Mary and John let Dean to spend as much time as he wished with his baby brother. If what the doctors said was true and Sam had only a short time to live, the parents didn't want Dean's memories of his brother to be ones where he wasn't allowed to be close to his sibling. Sam surprised them though. Despite the constant infections, he survived.

As the six-month mark approached, the doctors began to be a little more positive. If Sam made it to twelve months, he may actually have a chance.

Sam did better than reach his twelfth month; he reached his eighteenth, his twenty-fourth and on and on.

He somehow managed to do well in school despite missing a lot of it. Sam would either get sick or John would keep him from going because there was chicken pox or mumps spreading through the kids.

When Sam graduated from high school with a full-ride to Stanford, John was less than pleased. It wasn't that the father wasn't proud of his son, he was, but the idea of Sam being so far away terrified him. What if Sam became seriously ill?

Dean, although he was happy for his brother, had to take their Dad's side when it came to Sam's decision to leave. He had spent many a night watching over his younger sibling when something as insignificant as a common cold threatened his brother's life.

Sam was stubborn though and headed to California, ignoring his father's worried pleas for him to stay.

John and Dean needn't have worried though, because Sam met Jessica. The blonde never thought twice about taking care of Sam when he was sick, never making the young man feel bad about his condition.

But then John disappeared and Dean showed up at the apartment Sam and Jessica shared…

W

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of a sign for a motel flash by on the side of the road.

He turned down the music so he could talk to his brother.

"We're almost there, Sammy," he assured his sibling.

Sam nodded tiredly and closed his eyes.

It had been months since Dean had pulled his brother from the burning apartment but he could still tell Jessica's death was affecting Sam. For a while afterwards, Sam seemed to have slipped into a state of depression; he barely ate, hardly slept, and showed no interest in finding their missing father but finally- thankfully- he was starting to get better. Sure, his girlfriend's death still weighed heavily on his mind, but Sam was beginning to act like his normal self again.

Dean now hoped that the cold Sam had caught wouldn't stick around. Even though Sam had started taking better care of himself again- eating and sleeping- his already weakened immune system just didn't have the strength to fight off the puniest of bugs.

Dean knew it was just wishful thinking. He knew he and Sam would likely be holed-up in their motel room for days as the infection ran its course.

Dean prayed that the cold wouldn't land Sam in the hospital. It wasn't only that they made Dean uncomfortable but with the amount of antibiotic resistant infections in those places, well, the young man might as well kiss his brother goodbye right there in front of the sliding doors.

They'd been lucky so far. Whenever Sam did need to be hospitalized, he always managed to squeak through without picking anything else up.

But Dean wasn't stupid. He knew Sam was not going to grow to be an old man. He knew that one of these days Sam would get an infection that would be too much for his body to handle and he'd die.

But it wasn't going to be today.

W

Dean smiled as he pulled into the parking lot of the 'Rose Manor Motel'. The building had a grey-shingle roof and pink stucco exterior walls. The doors to the rooms were red.

"You want to come into the Office with me?" Dean asked his brother and Sam shook his head.

"Okay, I'll be a minute," he told his sibling, locking the car door after exiting the vehicle.

Dean jogged across the parking lot to the office to get a room. Stepping inside, Dean squinted against the fog of cigarette smoke and was glad his brother had decided not to come with him.

"Excuse me," Dean said and stepped up to the desk where a middle-aged woman with frizzy, purple-dyed hair sat flipping through a magazine.

"You want a room," the woman said without looking up.

"Yeah," Dean answered, "For at least a week."

The woman looked up and raised a thin eyebrow. Obviously she wasn't used to guests wanting to stay for longer than a single night.

"If it's a problem I can pay for the week in advance," Dean told her and pulled out his wallet.

She held up a hand, her long nails curved almost into claws, "That's not necessary, Honey."

Dean paused.

"Just pay for the one night now and come see me in the morning if you plan on staying," the woman told him.

"Okay," Dean answered slowly and handed her enough money for the night, "Do you have any rooms with two single beds?"

The woman gave a throaty laugh and shook her head, "Honey, does this look like the kind of place that has two beds in its rooms?"

"No," Dean responded, "Okay, you know what, I'll take whatever you've got."

The woman slid backwards in the rolling chair she was sitting in and grabbed a key fob off one of the hooks behind her without looking and set it down on the desk.

"Here you go," she said, almost smirking.

"Thanks," Dean replied and grabbed the key.

Shaking his head as he stepped back outside, Dean sighed heavily, breathing in air that wasn't polluted with cigarette fumes.

He reached the Impala and unlocked his door.

"Hey, Sammy," he said as he sat down, "Sorry I took so long."

"S'okay, Dean," Sam muttered.

The older brother slowly drove towards their motel room, parking in the spot directly in front of it.

Dean hoped the room wasn't as noxious as the office had been and unlocked the door.

Whoever owned the motel certainly loved roses. The carpet was beige with a primrose pattern, the duvet on the bed was a dusty pink, the wallpaper featured climbing roses, and there was even a vase of plastic roses sitting on the table.

Dean stepped into the room and sniffed. It smelled like bleach and furniture polish with just a faint whiff of dirt; just like every other motel room.

Turning around and walking back to the car, Dean opened the passenger's side door.

"C'mon Sammy," he said and took his brother's arm, helping him out of the Impala, "Let's get you into bed."

Sam followed his brother without complaint. His eyes were half-closed and he just about fell onto the bed, fully clothed before Dean could pull the duvet down.

Dean frowned slightly as Sam's eyes closed all the way and he seemed to quickly fall asleep within seconds.

Just let him rest, Dean told himself, he needs it.

Leaving Sam to get some much needed sleep, Dean returned to the Impala and grabbed their things.

W

"D'n?"

The older brother instantly looked up from the television show he was watching, turning around to see his sibling sitting up in bed.

Sam's face was pale as a sheet with two red spots high on his cheeks. His eyes were half-open, gummy with yellow gunk.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean told him and moved from his seat to the edge of the bed.

He used his sleeve to wipe at Sam's eyes, laying his palm on his brother's brow afterwards.

Sam definitely had a fever.

Luckily Dean was prepared. He stood up and crossed the room to his duffel bag, pulling a bottle of Ginger Ale from inside and twisting the cap off as he returned to his brother's side.

"Here Sammy," he said and held the bottle out, "Drink some of this."

SPN

Sam shivered even as sweat dripped down his face and back. He had a pounding headache and his stomach roiled with nausea.

"Sammy, c'mon man, you've gotta eat," Dean said, holding a spoon out towards him like Sam was a baby, "Just a little bit."

Sam groaned miserably. He just wanted to rest. Why didn't Dean let him sleep?

"Sam, we've been through this hundreds of times," Dean continued, his tone more serious, "If you don't eat you'll make it worse."

Thankfully Dean lowered the spoon back into the bowl of chicken noodle soup. Instead he grabbed the half-finished bottle of Ginger Ale and opened it.

"Drink," he ordered.

Shakily, Sam took the bottle from his brother and sipped at the now-flat soda.

SPN

Dean began weighing his options.

He could take Sam to the hospital now and risk superbugs or he could wait and see if the fever broke.

Sam had fallen into a restless slumber again after having eaten nothing but drinking a little Ginger Ale.

He decided he'd wait until morning and if Sam was worse, he'd take him to the nearest Emergency room.

Taking his cell phone out, Dean tried his father's number, knowing that John probably wouldn't answer.

He was right. The phone went straight to voicemail.

"Dad, it's me, Dean," he said quietly so he wouldn't wake his sibling, "Sam's pretty sick and I might be taking him to the hospital. If you're there, we're in Loup City, Nebraska."

W

"Sammy? Hey, Sammy, wake up," Dean shook his brother's shoulder gently the next morning, concerned when the younger man didn't wake immediately.

"M'okay," Sam muttered and sat up slowly.

Before he could move, Dean placed a hand on his brother's forehead. Sam didn't feel worse but he was still pretty warm.

They could hold off on the hospital then; at least for a little while.

"You feeling up to eating?" Dean asked and brushed Sam's hair away from his face.

"Mmm," Sam muttered and blinked up at him before nodding.

Dean smiled; it was a good sign if Sam wanted to eat.

W

Whistling to himself, Dean opened the door of the Office and couldn't help but smile at the woman behind the desk.

She was reading the newspaper and didn't look up right away.

"I think I'm going to stay for the rest of the week," Dean said and the woman took her eyes away from the newsprint.

"Sure thing," she said and Dean handed her the money.

"Would you believe that?" the woman asked, flattening down the front page for Dean to see.

"Some local faith healer claims he can cure sick people," she scoffed, "That's a crock of shit if you ask me."

Dean frowned and peered at the article.

"He's local?" he asked and the woman nodded, "Has his little church going on just outside of town. You wouldn't have seen it from the direction you came in, he's on the other side."

"Hm," Dean muttered.

"What? Don't tell me you believe in that voodoo stuff," the woman said, blowing smoke in Dean's face, "Every nutjob out there thinks he's Jesus Christ or the Devil himself."

Dean shook his head, "Nope. I've just always been curious about that sort of thing. My brother would probably say its like the 'placebo effect' or something, making people think they're actually cured so they show symptoms of getting better when really all that's happened is they let some Bible-thumper smack them around and scream scripture at them."

The woman looked at Dean for a long moment before picking up the newspaper again.

Dean took that as his cue to leave.

Of course he didn't really believe in faith healers- he didn't really believe in God- but he knew that Sam would. Despite the lives they lived, Sam had never seemed to lose his belief that there was something good in the world, that sometimes miracles did happen and angels could also exist alongside demons.

Some of his brother's belief must have rubbed off on Dean because found himself wanting to go check this faith healer out, see what his deal was.

Of course, Dean assumed, it'd probably cost an arm and a leg just to get within a hundred feet of the man but they weren't going to get that close.

Stepping into the motel room, Dean smiled at his brother, "Hey Sammy, how do you feel about going for a little road trip?"

W

Dean drove slowly towards the large white tent that had been set up in the middle of what looked like a farmer's field. Cars were parked on either side of the road, bumper to bumper. A sign at the edge of the impromptu parking lot read: The Church of Roy Le Grange. Faith Healer. Witness the Miracle. There appeared to be no bodyguards or ticket-taker so Dean pulled up behind a blue pickup truck and cut the engine.

Sam peered blearily out the window, a confused expression on his pale features.

"Why are we here?" he asked tiredly and turned to look at Dean with red-rimmed eyes.

"The guy's a faith healer, Sammy."

"I want to go back to the motel," Sam told him, shivering despite the hoodie and jacket he was wearing.

"We will, I promise, I just want to check this out," Dean said.

Sam glared at him and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Just humour me, okay?" Dean begged, "Besides, I thought you believed in this kind of stuff anyway."

Sam didn't answer.

"Okay then," Dean said, "C'mon Sammy."

"You don't," Sam said quietly; making Dean pause with his hand on the door, ready to exit the vehicle.

"What?" he asked, brows knitted together.

"You don't believe in this," Sam continued, "So why are we here?"

Dean sighed, "I told you Sammy, I just wanted to take a look. You never know, this guy might be the real deal."

Dean exited the vehicle and walked around the front of the car to open his brother's door.

Sam stepped out of the car and looked around suspiciously. He moved closer to Dean and followed as the older man began walking towards the tent.

Dean reached out automatically and gripped his brother's elbow when youngish guy in a suit approached them.

"Don't go in there!" he told them, "He's a fraud! A dupe!"

Dean held his free hand out as the man stepped in front of them.

"Yeah, okay buddy," Dean said distractedly, "Let us pass."

He didn't really want to have to punch the guy and was glad when the man stepped out of the way.

"You'll regret going in there!" he called to the Winchesters as they approached the tent.

Sam looked back at the man and frowned.

"Ignore him, Sammy," Dean said, tightening his grip on his brother's arm.

Dean reached out and pushed aside one of the flaps that served as the tent's door. He didn't see anything evil. There was black alter, no Satanic bible, no bloodstained knives.

Instead, there were two rows of folding chairs and sitting in front of a small stage. On the stage there was a microphone stand and a man and woman. The woman looked to be in her early fifties with greying red hair. She wore a modest floral-print blouse and beige slacks. The man wore a light yellow polo shirt and dark blue dress pants and sunglasses.

A couple of people looked at the Winchesters as they stepped inside but then quickly turned around again.

"Come on in," the man on the stage- Roy Le Grange- said and made a come hither motion with one hand, "Don't be shy."

Dean led Sam over to a couple of empty chairs and sat down.

"See Sam," Dean leaned in close to his brother and whispered, "This isn't so bad."

Sam sniffed and wrapped his arms around himself, continuing to shake.

Dean glanced surreptitiously at the other people sitting on the chairs; there was a young woman with blonde hair with an older woman sitting right beside her, holding her hand and an elderly man with an oxygen tank by his side. A woman with forearm crutches sat right in front of the Winchesters.

Roy Le Grange was saying something about the healing powers of God and how those who had faith in Him would never die and blah blah blah; Dean wasn't really listening.

Dean looked when Sam abruptly stood up and staggered out of the tent, one hand over his mouth.

"Sammy!" Dean called worriedly, ignoring the people who had turned around to stare at them.

Stepping outside, Dean saw his brother bent over, one hand on his stomach as he puked into the grass.

"Shit," Dean swore and approached his brother. Reaching out he rubbed Sam's back soothingly.

"You okay?" Dean asked, bending down to try and look at Sam's face.

"I told you not to go in there!" a sudden exclamation made both Winchesters jump. Dean straightened up to see the guy in the suit standing far too close to Sam for his comfort.

"Fuck off," Dean snarled.

The man didn't fuck off but stared right at Sam.

"You sensed it! I know you did!"

Dean stepped in-between his brother and the man, "What part of 'get the hell out of here' don't you understand?"

The man took a step back, "It's evil! He's evil. Roy Le Grange claims to be a man of God but he reeks of sulfur!"

The comment made Dean's eyes narrow with suspicion, "Hit the road!"

The man finally got the idea and retreated.

Dean turned his attention back to his brother, "You okay?"

"Can we go back now?" Sam asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean muttered, "We'll go back to the motel."

W

That guy mentioned smelling sulfur but to Dean's knowledge demons didn't perform miracles and they sure as hell didn't cure people of illness.

Dean shook his head as he pulled into the parking spot in front of their motel room.

He glanced at Sam who had his head resting against the side window and his eyes closed.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean reached out and touched his brother's shoulder.

The younger man looked up blearily.

"We're here," Dean told him and Sam nodded, unbuckling his seat belt.

W

Once Sam was settled, Dean grabbed his laptop and sat down at the table with it.

It was time to do a little research on Roy Le Grange.

SPN

"Sam…"

Sam opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom he shared with Jessica and saw… nothing.

"Sam…"

His girlfriend's voice called out, faint yet as clear as a bell.

"Jess!" Sam shouted, sitting up, "Where are you?"

"Sam… help me…"

Sam turned his head; the voice seemed to be coming from the living room.

"Hold on, Jess," he called reassuringly and climbed off the bed.

He ran down the short hallway and into the living room where he was met with the sight of the television, coffee table, couch and chairs… but no Jess.

"Sam… help me…"

Sam turned around. The bedroom again.

"I'm coming!" Sam called and headed in the direction from which he had just come.

"I'm burning…."

Sam rushed into the bedroom but again there was nothing out of order. Everything looked just as he had left it.

"Help me… I can't stop… burning…"

Sam froze. The voice was now right behind him.

Slowly, his heart pounding, Sam turned around.

"Sam," Jess said as she stood before him, flames consuming her body as he watched.

Sam's eyes widened as he watched Jess's hair sparked and turn to ash, her face began to blister, her eyes melted out of their sockets-

The girl raised her hands.

"Help me… Sam… hold me…"

Sam staggered back with a tormented cry, closing his eyes against the horror of his girlfriend's death.

W

"Sam! Sam! Damn it, wake up!"

Sam's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at his brother's concerned features.

"Dean!" he gasped and his brother helped him sit up.

Sam placed a hand on his forehead, pushing his bangs away from his eyes.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean swore, "You were screaming."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of nausea rolled through him, "Nightmare."

"No shit," Dean replied, "Here, drink some of this."

Sam looked up as his brother offered a bottle of Ginger Ale.

"Are you feeling any better?" Dean asked worriedly.

Sam shook his head, "Not really."

Dean's lips formed a thin, grim line, "You've gotta eat something Sam."

"Yeah… Yeah, sure," Sam muttered and set the soda aside.

"I looked into that Roy Le Grange guy," Dean told him as he stuck the bowl of chicken soup Sam hadn't eaten earlier into the motel room's ancient microwave.

Sam didn't really want to talk about this. He was sick. He would always be sick. He would die sick. End of story.

No amount of praying would help him. He had tried.

"And?" Sam asked tiredly, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Clean as a whistle," Dean told him, "No criminal record, nothing. Seems he was an engineer but he was in an accident and lost his sight."

The microwave beeped and Dean took the soup out, stirring it with a spoon.

"That's when God spoke to him, apparently," he continued, bringing the soup to Sam.

"God spoke to him?" Sam repeated, taking the bowl from his brother. He really didn't feel like eating but he knew he had to.

"Yeah, Roy said that God gave him the power to heal because He had a special mission for him," Dean told him, "Or at least that's what Roy says."

Sam didn't say anything. He stirred the soup around in the bowl for a moment before eating a spoonful.

"I'm going to go back," Dean told him and Sam looked up.

"You don't have to go with me," Dean said in a reassuring tone, "I just want to see if I can meet the guy."

"Dean, please-" Sam tried because really, all his brother was doing was making things worse. Yes Sam believed in God and Heaven but didn't think He would magically cure a person just because they prayed hard enough. That wasn't they way God worked.

"Sam," Dean interrupted, holding a hand up, "If there's a chance that you can be cured, that we can make you healthy, I'm going to take it."

Sam sighed and set the bowl of soup aside, "I'm kind of tired, Dean."

Before his brother could say anything, Sam laid down again, pulling the pink duvet up over his head.

SPN

Dean parked the Impala and approached the white tent, keeping an eye out for the naysayer in the suit.

He picked up his pace when the flaps of the tent opened and people began pouring out onto the field; apparently the service was over.

"Hey!"

Dean turned at the voice and saw the blonde-haired woman from earlier. She smiled as she walked towards him.

"Hi," Dean said politely.

"You left in a hurry," the young woman said, "Is your friend alright?"

"Sam, he's my brother, and yeah," Dean replied, "For now."

The woman nodded, "I'm Layla Rourke."

"Dean Winchester," he replied and shook the woman's hand.

"So, why are you seeing this Roy fellow? You look great to me," Dean said, giving her a charming smile.

Layla blushed, "Thank you. I have a brain tumor; inoperable the doctors say. My mother first heard of Roy and is trying to get him to see me."

Dean nodded, grimacing at the sad news.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sincerely.

Layla shrugged, "Don't be. I'm not."

Dean nodded again, "So your mother's trying to get this guy to see you, like an audience you mean?"

Layla smiled and brushed her hair back from her shoulder, "Sort of. Roy doesn't heal everybody. He can't. He just kind of picks you. I don't know how. And well, my mother is trying to plead my case to him. We've been coming to his service for weeks but he's always passed me by."

"Hm," Dean muttered, "What would I have to do to see the big guy?"

Before Layla could answer, her mother, Roy and the red-haired woman came out of the tent.

Mrs. Rourke didn't look all too happy either. The redhead was patting her arm and muttering something to her.

"Come along, Layla," Mrs. Rourke called, pulling her arm from the redhead's grasp.

"I'll see you around?" Layla asked and Dean nodded.

Turning his attention from the blonde as she hurried to catch up to her mother, Dean followed Roy and the woman.

"Uh, excuse me! Roy! Mr. Le Grange!"

Dean sighed in relief as the man and woman turned around.

"Yes?" the woman asked, holding onto Roy's arm.

"Hi, my name's Dean Winchester," he began.

"You're new, aren't you?" Roy asked suddenly.

"Yeah, my brother and I just stopped in to check you guys out," Dean explained.

Roy nodded, "He's very sick."

"Yeah," Dean answered, "Yeah, he is. That's actually why I wanted to talk to you-"

"If you want a private meeting, you'll have to book an appointment young man," the red-haired woman told him.

"What? No, I don't want to make an appointment," Dean argued.

Roy turned his head in the woman's direction, "Now Sue-Ann, let the boy talk."

The redhead crossed her arms over her chest and all but glared at Dean.

"I just wanted to ask if maybe you could heal my brother," Dean said, "You see, he's been sick for a long time, since he was a baby, and there's no chance of him getting better."

Roy nodded, "I understand your concern, young man."

Dean brightened up.

"You can't just show up here for ten minutes and expect the Lord to heal your brother!" Sue-Ann interrupted.

Dean gritted his teeth together, "Oh yeah? What about Layla Rourke? She's been coming here for weeks! When's God going to heal her? Hm?"

Sue-Ann opened her mouth in shock.

Roy lifted his hand, "I understand your concern, young man, but I cannot heal everyone. God tells me who I should heal."

Now it was Dean's turn to cross his arms, "And how does He do that?"

Roy smiled patiently, "I just get a feeling about certain people. I can't explain it but I just know that those are the ones I should cure."

Dean rolled his eyes before the man could continue.

"Why don't you come back for service tomorrow? You and your brother?"

Dean wasn't sure what to think. Was the man saying he'd cure Sam? Was he just stringing him along?

"Well?" Sue-Ann snapped, "Say something!"

Dean cut eyes at the woman before turning to Roy, "Yeah, we'll be there. Thank you."

SPN

Sam didn't say anything to Dean the next day when he told him they were going back to see Roy Le Grange.

"He's going to help you, Sammy," Dean said excitedly, "I just know it."

Sam closed his eyes as Dean drove out of town.

W

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said when the vehicle stopped and he turned off the engine.

Sam peered through the window and saw a procession of people walking into the white tent ahead of them.

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt slowly. He was feeling as achy as hell today- his muscles and joints sore- and he couldn't muster enough energy to move quickly.

Dean was already at his side of the car, with the door open, before Sam had gotten out of his seat.

"Dean! Hey, you came!"

Sam looked up at the sound of someone calling his brother's name and saw a blonde-haired woman approaching them.

Dean turned to her and waved as Sam got out of the car and straightened up.

"Layla, this is my brother, Sam," Dean introduced them.

"Hi Sam," the woman said and reached a hand out.

Sam put his hands in his jacket pockets instead of shaking.

"Sorry," he said instantly when he saw the look on Layla's face, "It's not you, it's-"

"Sam's immune system is pretty much nonexistent," Dean interrupted, "So he doesn't really like people touching him. Germs, you see."

"Oh," Layla said, "Sorry."

"Layla!" Mrs. Rourke's voice called and the woman sighed.

"I'll see you inside?" she asked and Dean nodded.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean grabbed Sam's arm and led him towards the tent.

SPN

Sam slouched in his seat beside Dean, staring at the seat in front of him blearily.

Dean frowned and patted his brother's back.

Any moment now, any moment Roy was going to stop talking about how great and good and powerful God was and call Sammy up.

Any moment now.

Roy reached out a hand and pointed…

At the woman Dean had seen the day before, the one with forearm crutches.

The woman stood shakily, her legs barely holding her weight. A man who had been sitting beside her- possibly her husband- helped her up onto the stage.

"Let us pray for this woman that God may heal her through me!" Roy called out and everyone- except Dean and Sam- bowed their heads and began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

Dean watched carefully as the woman on stage began to sway and suddenly collapse. He stood up from his seat but stopped when her husband ran to her and helped her sit up.

The woman's eyes were open and welling with tears. The congregation stopped praying and everyone looked up. The woman slipped the crutches off her arms and stood shakily, holding onto her husband's hands as she did so.

"He cured her! She can walk!" a voice cried from the crowd and everyone clapped and cheered.

Roy waved demurely at the parishioners. As the congregation began to stand up, signaling the end of the service, Dean remained rooted to his seat.

What the fuck was that?

"Dean, can we go now?" Sam asked, "I really don't feel good."

Dean didn't even bother to look at his brother; his eyes were pinned on Roy Le Grange.

"In a minute," he muttered. He waited until everyone had filed out of the tent but for Roy and Sue-Ann.

"Hey!" Dean stood and stepped in front of the couple as they walked down the middle aisle.

"Dean, did you enjoy the ser-" Roy began but the hunter interrupted him.

"Don't give me that bullshit," he swore, causing Sue-Ann to gasp at his profanity, "You said you'd heal my brother!"

Roy smiled sympathetically in Dean's direction.

"I didn't say that, Dean," he said calmly, "You misunderstood."

Dean's hands clenched into fists, "Is this fun for you, huh? Do you get your shits and giggles from stringing innocent people along, people like Sam or Layla? Making them think you're going to make them better but then just watching them leave disappointed?"

Sue-Ann stepped forward, "How dare you?!"

"I told you before, Dean," Roy said before his wife could continue, "I do not choose who I cure, God does. If I don't get that feeling about a person, I can't heal them."

Dean shook his head, "You know what? Fuck you. That guy outside was right, you are a fraud."

He turned away from the Le Grange's and walked back towards his brother.

He waited until Sue-Ann and Roy had left the tent before pulling Sam to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean muttered.

The younger man didn't reply. His face was pale, tinged with grey.

"Let's go," Dean said and led his brother out of the tent.

He looked up when he saw Roy and Sue-Ann standing outside, almost as though they were waiting for them.

Dean turned away from the couple; he didn't want anything to do with the Le Grange's.

He led Sam to the Impala and helped him into the passenger's seat. His brother's face was slick with sweat even as he shivered, his teeth all but chattering.

"Just hang in there, Sammy," Dean murmured comfortingly, "I'm gonna get you to the hospital."

"Dean," a voice and a hand on the young man's shoulder made him jump.

Turning around, Dean scowled when he saw Roy and Sue-Ann.

"Leave us alone," he snarled, blocking Sam from view.

Although his wife was frowning, Roy gave Dean a small smile.

"Please come back," he said, "Tomorrow."

Dean shook his head before he remembered that Roy couldn't see him, "I should be taking my brother to the hospital."

"It's that bad?" Roy asked, frowning.

"Yeah," Dean answered shortly.

"May I?" Roy gestured and Dean reluctantly stepped out of the way.

Le Grange reached out until he touched Sam's arm.

The young man jumped.

"D'n?"

"It's okay Sammy," Dean soothed.

"Roy," Sue-Ann said, "There's nothing you can do for the boy right now."

The redhead frowned at Dean as if he had somehow coerced her husband into seeing his brother.

Roy lifted his head, "Come tomorrow, Dean. Please."

Dean folded his arms over his chest; he wasn't going to fall for that again.

"Roy," Sue-Ann warned but the man shushed her.

"I can't do anything right now, Dean, but I promise, I will help your brother tomorrow."

Dean looked at the man for a long moment before turning his gaze on his brother.

Sam was seriously ill. Dean either had to take him to the Emergency room or he could show up in the tent tomorrow, hoping Roy wasn't playing him for a fool again.

"I don't toy with peoples' lives, Dean," Roy said as though he knew what he was thinking, "Whatever you may believe of me."

Dean wiped a hand over his face, "Yeah, okay… I'll try."

Roy smiled, "You and your brother are destined for great things, Dean. I know it."

Dean nodded as Sue-Ann pulled her husband away, whispering heatedly to him as they walked away.

W

"Jess?" Sam whimpered, his eyes glassy and half-open as he lay in the motel room's bed.

Dean sat on the corner of the mattress beside his brother, a cool washcloth in his hand.

"Shh, Sammy," he murmured and wiped sweat from his brother's brow gently with the cloth.

"Jess… no… Jess…" Sam continued to mutter, head turning from side to side in agitation.

Dean reached over and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand and dialed his Dad's number.

He sighed when the voicemail came on.

"Dad," he said quietly, "Sam's really sick… It's looking pretty bad. I don't know what your doing… or care. Just get over here now. We're still in Loup City at the 'Rose Manor Motel'."

"JESS!" Sam shouted, trying to sit up in bed.

"Hey! Hey, no!" Dean exclaimed and grabbed his brother's shoulders, holding him down.

Sam lay back down without much fight. He sniffed and his eyes welled up with tears.

C'mon Sammy, Dean thought, you've beaten these bugs before. You can do it again.

Dean closed his eyes for a long moment; it was going to be one hell of a night.

W

Early the next morning Dean bundled Sam up as warm as he could, pulling his brother's winter jacket from the Impala's trunk even though it was the middle of April and settled him in the passenger's seat.

Dean drove well over the speed limit to the other side of town where he felt relief wash through him at the sight of Roy's white tent.

"C'mon Sammy, c'mon," Dean urged gently as he helped his brother from the car, one arm wrapped around his sibling's shoulders.

"D'n," Sam whispered and blinked blearily.

"Shh," Dean murmured, "It's okay."

The other people filing into the tent gave the Winchesters sympathetic looks as they passed. Layla caught sight of them and almost ran forward.

"Oh my God, Dean!" she gasped.

"I wasn't joking when I said he was sick," he replied, giving the blonde a humourless smile.

The woman though, didn't return the gesture.

"Layla!" her mother called and she reluctantly left the brothers.

Dean made sure to sit near the front. He wanted to make sure the Le Grange's knew he and Sam were there.

Sam leaned heavily against him as he sat down, his brother's breath warm on his neck.

Dean rubbed his sibling's back as the service began to start, his heart skipping in his chest.

Dean waited, his patience wearing thin as Roy went on and on about God and His good works before the blind faith healer approached the edge of the stage and raised his hand as he had done before.

Dean shifted in his seat, ready to get up…

His mouth dropped open in shock when Roy's finger pointed at Layla Rourke instead of Sam.

That son of a bitch!

The blonde stared in disbelief for a long moment before her mother shook her shoulder, "Layla! That's you! Go on up, Dear!"

Mrs. Rourke had tears in her eyes as her daughter stood up slowly and approached the stage stiffly.

Dean's blood was boiling in his veins. He gripped his brother tightly and Sam squeaked in pain.

Layla set one foot up on the step that led to the stage and turned to look at him.

She stepped down, shaking her head.

"I can't," she said humbly.

"What? Of course you can!" Mrs. Rourke stood up, "You'll be cured!"

Layla took a deep breath and turned to her mother, "I don't need to be cured, Mother. I know I'm going to die and I've come to terms with it. I'm not scared."

"You… but… we've been waiting," Mrs. Rourke stammered at her daughter.

"You're sick!" she exclaimed, stumbling forward and grabbing her daughter's arm.

"I am," Layla admitted, "But I know someone who needs Roy's help more than me."

"Who?!" Mrs. Rourke all but shrieked.

The other parishioners had begun to whisper among themselves; apparently nothing like this had ever happened before.

Layla smiled and held out her hand toward the brother's, "Sam."

Dean felt tears sting his eyes as he stood up, taking his brother with him.

He reached out and took Layla's hand because Sam was clinging to him.

"NO!" Mrs. Rourke shouted, "Why should he be cured?! We've been waiting! Who's he to deserve to be healed?!"

Dean and Layla ignored the woman as they took the stairs and stepped up onto the stage.

Roy smiled as he held his hand out towards the brothers.

You knew, Dean suddenly realized; you knew, you bastard.

Dean gripped Sam tightly as Roy approached. He could see Sue-Ann standing at the back of the stage, looking less than pleased about the turn of events.

"Let us pray for this man that God may heal him through me!"

The parishioners- even Layla- and excluding Mrs. Rourke bent their heads and began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

He felt Sam begin to sway dangerously in his grip but luckily managed to keep hold of him as his sibling's knees gave out from under him.

Dean carefully lowered Sam to the stage.

"Sammy?" he asked, holding his brother's face between his hands, "Sammy, can you hear me?"

Sam's eyes opened slowly and for the first time in days they were clear and focused.

"Dean?" he asked weakly.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and hugged his brother to him, tears welling up in his eyes.

W

Dean couldn't believe it.

It was a genuine miracle.

Maybe there were good things left in the world, he thought as he watched his brother wolf down a salad. Sam's complexion was much healthier, as was his appetite, and he claimed to have no feeling of malaise at all.

Maybe good things do happen to us, Dean thought and took a large bite of his cheeseburger.


	21. Into The Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from sammynanci: Sam's visions become more painful than usual and the supernatural being causing them kidnaps him for its own evil purposed. Set in Season 2.

Dean pressed his cell phone tight to his ear, listening intently as the phone rang and rang until…

"Hey, this is Sam. Leave a message and I'll-"

Dean tossed his phone onto his bed in frustration, "God damn it!"

Where the hell was his brother?!

W

"Something's wrong, Dean," Sam insisted, elbows on the table between them, "I know there is. They're getting worse."

Dean gave his brother a long look before taking a healthy gulp his beer.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Sam," he said, "Just take some Tylenol or whatever."

Sam stared at him, his expression hurt. Shaking his head, he stood.

"Hey, where are you going?" Dean asked indignantly.

"I'm going back to the motel room to lay down," Sam told him.

Dean watched his brother as he made his way through the crowded bar towards the exit. Dean sighed when he lost sight of Sam among the other patrons and took another drink of beer.

Dean frowned. Sam's visions had been more painful lately- his brother nearly reduced to tears after every one- and were more confusing and random than ever before. He had no idea what was going on but he was getting tired of Sam obsessing over them, trying to piece them together to figure out what he was seeing.

A waitress stopped in front of the table, "Can I get you another one?"

Dean lifted his now-empty beer bottle, "Sure thing, Sweetheart."

SPN

Sam woke slowly, groggily.

His head was pounding and his eyes were throbbing in their sockets.

"D'n?" he muttered, confused and disoriented.

Sam sat up slowly, blinking and trying to clear his head. It was dark and he couldn't see.

"Dean?" he called, louder this time and stood shakily. Sam reached out to steady himself and his hand touched cold, dry cinderblock.

There was no cinderblock in the motel room.

Sam's free hand went to his head as pain tore through it and he cried out.

What was happening to him?

He tried to remember if he had even made it to the motel room but the last thing he recalled was walking down the deserted sidewalk away from the bar.

Once the pain subsided, Sam patted his jacket pockets, finding his lighter and pulling it out.

It was very quiet- wherever he was- and he was certain it wasn't inside. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing.

Flicking the lighter's plastic wheel and creating a flame, Sam lifted the light high, trying to see where exactly he was.

Behind him was a white cinderblock wall, beneath his feet unpainted cement… and ahead of him a length of security fencing complete with a mesh door panel.

Sam approached the fence slowly. Reaching out, his slipped his fingers through the metal mesh of the door and shook it. The fence trembled only slightly. He glanced down and saw a padlock on the door.

Peering curiously through the mesh, Sam saw an aisle that cut between his and another length of fencing on the opposite side. Unlike the one Sam was trapped in, the fence on the other side held what looked like pieces of old furniture from swivel chairs and desks to computer monitors and whiteboards.

Was he in the basement of an office building?

If he was maybe there were still people here, working late.

"Hey! Help! Can anyone hear me? I'm down here!" Sam called but groaned in pain when his own raised voice made his head ache.

Sam tensed when he heard a faint sound from the far end of the aisle, past the point where his meager light reached.

"Hello?" he asked cautiously.

He wasn't stupid. He knew someone- or something- had ambushed him on his way back to the motel. How the hell else would he end up trapped behind a fence like a caged animal? He certainly didn't sleepwalk and was sure he wasn't about to start now.

"Who's there?" he called out again quietly.

There was no response but the sound came again. Sam frowned, it sounded almost like someone dragging their feet as they walked.

Sam's attention turned to his lighter when the flame flickered, spluttered, then went out completely.

"Shit," he swore and tried to get the flame going again.

Sam looked up sharply when the odd dragging sound came again and seemed to be moving closer.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, desperately trying to get the lighter to work.

The lighter fell from Sam's hand as the monster pounced, its plastic case smashing against the cement floor. Sam collapsed as the creature bore down upon him, cracking his head on the cement floor and slipping into unconsciousness.

SPN

Dean paced the motel room, phone to his ear once again. He peered out the window from between the curtains; eyes keen for the sight of his brother's tall form.

"I'm telling you, Bobby," Dean repeated, his tone somewhat exasperated, "Even walking Sam should have beaten me here."

"Maybe he's still out there," the grizzled hunter suggested, "Gathering his thoughts."

Dean sighed, "It's almost two a.m. Sam's rarely ever out this late unless he's on a hunt. And we're not; we've only been in town one day, just passing through, really."

"I don't know what to say, Dean," Bobby confessed, "Are you sure you're not overreacting?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed, "Damn it… I should have gone with him."

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, "Something tells me this just ain't about Sam not showing up at yer motel room."

Dean sighed and turned away from the window, sitting down on the end of his bed instead.

"Sam's visions have been getting worse, Bobby," he admitted.

There was silence on the other end before, "Worse how?"

Dean ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, "Really painful… more than before. And strange."

"Strange, eh?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, Sam told me about a couple of them and I have to agree with him," Dean informed the veteran hunter, "They were about him. Sam was having visions about himself. That's never happened before. But he couldn't figure them out; they were so screwed up. And they were violent, Bobby, I mean really awful. Sam was terrified."

"Okay," Bobby said, "Hold tight, I'm coming yer way."

"What? Why?" Dean asked nervously.

"This sounds serious," the grizzled hunter told him.

Dean sighed, "I shouldn't have ignored them. Damn it! I'm an idiot!"

"Pull yerself together!" Bobby snapped, "That ain't gonna help Sam."

Dean nodded even though the older hunter couldn't see him.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Just stay put," Bobby told him, "I should be there in a few hours."

Dean thanked him and closed his phone.

"Where the hell are you, Sammy?"

SPN

Sam lay curled into a tight ball, one hand pressed to the wound on his neck, blood seeping sluggishly through his fingers.

The humanoid creature stood over him, a gloating expression on its features.

The monster was tall- though not as tall as Sam- and thin. It had long dark hair and dark eyes. It had a long thin nose and a wide mouth. The creature's hands ended in claws, as did its feet; its knees bent backwards like a bird's. It was naked except for what looked like a white toque on top of its head and it appeared to be neither male nor female.

Sam groaned in pain as his head throbbed and nightmarish visions swam before his eyes.

"Yes," the creature said eagerly but Sam ignored it.

…He bent over his father's body, tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of John's still form. The heart monitor now deathly silent.

"I'm sorry Dad," Sam whispered, "I'm so sorry."

John's eyes opened suddenly, their usual dark brown lightening into yellow. He reached out and grabbed Sam's arm and began pulling him down…

Sam cried out and grabbed his head with both hands.

…Dean grinned at him, eyes as black as coal. He flung a hand out and Sam was dashed against the wall, his spine shattering on impact.

"Oh, sorry, did that hurt?" Dean asked, tilting his head to one side as Sam dropped to the floor, unable to move.

"No!" Sam begged and fisted his hands in his hair; his eyes squeezed shut.

…He knelt down and rested a single white rose on Jess's grave. He felt tears sting his eyes as he looked up at his girlfriend's name carved into the cold granite.

A burning hand latched onto his and Jess began pulling herself up, her body covered in flames.

"You killed me," she accused and the fire consuming her began to spread, racing up Sam's sleeve as he fought to escape the flames.

"Please! Make it stop! Make them go away!" Sam cried, begging.

The creature, instead of helping Sam, took hold of him by the shoulders and ducked its head down, mouth open wide to reveal two rows of sharp fangs.

SPN

Dean looked up as Bobby stepped inside the motel room, a stack of books in his arms.

"What are those for?" he asked as Bobby dumped the tomes on the motel room's small table.

"You said Sam's visions have been getting' pretty bad," the grizzled hunter said as he picked up a particularly old-looking text bound in leather, "And its clear by now that he didn't just go for a walk and ended up woolgathering."

Dean frowned, his heart skipping a beat.

"What do you think it is?" he asked.

"It could be any manner of things," Bobby told him nonchalantly, "That's why I brought all these."

The veteran hunter gestured to the books, "But I'm going to say that painful, violent visions are a clue and go from there."

SPN

Sam remained still for a long time.

He didn't dare to move.

The creature had gone but it might come back.

Tears leaked from Sam's eyes; his head felt like it was about to split in half and he had no energy to move.

Whatever the monster was, it drank blood, a lot of it.

Sam reached out with shaking fingers and pressed his hand to the wound in his neck, gasping in pain.

A wave of nausea rolled through Sam and he had to force himself not to puke.

If he didn't get help soon he was sure to bleed to death.

Sam froze when he heard the creature approaching, its dragging footsteps now familiar.

"Leave me alone," Sam croaked but the creature did not.

It appeared at the hunter's side- how was it getting in without opening the door- and crouched down, one hand grabbing Sam's shoulder and holding him down.

"Get away from me!" Sam hissed, trying to sound threatening but only sounding tired.

The monster ducked its head low and Sam was sure it was going to bite him again. Instead it sniffed his neck for a moment before opening its mouth.

This is it, Sam thought, I'm dead.

The young man jerked in surprise when a long, slippery tongue touched his neck, almost wrapping around his throat.

Sam shuddered at the sensation of the cold, slimy tongue slid over his skin, leaving a thick, mucus-like substance behind.

Sam lifted his free hand and tried to wipe the goo away but the creature reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"What are you doing to me?" Sam asked through gritted teeth.

"No blood," the monster said, "No bleed."

Sam stared up at the humanoid figure, confused.

"Let go of me!" he demanded, now fighting the monster's hold.

The creature snapped, "Wait!"

Sam struggled but it was no use; he was too weak.

After a long moment the monster released Sam and backed up. The young man reached up and touched his neck. He could feel the creature's saliva on his skin and he gently touched the wound. The monster's spit covered it completely, creating a seal that prevented blood from leaking out.

Sam lowered his hand, feeling sick to his stomach.

He looked up but the monster had vanished again.

He guessed it was planning on keeping his around for a while.

He wondered if Dean knew he was missing yet and if he was close to finding him.

SPN

"Balls," Bobby swore out loud, causing Dean to look up.

"What is it?" he asked and left the book he had been reading.

"I think it's an alp," the grizzled hunter said and set the book down, showing him an artist's interpretation of what the monster looked like.

"Wow, that's fucked," Dean said, wrinkling his nose.

Bobby nodded, "And damn near impossible to kill."

"Great," Dean commented, "Tell me something good about this fugly bastard."

"They don't kill their victims right away," Bobby informed him.

"Oh… yeah, that's great," Dean replied sarcastically and the veteran hunter glared at him.

"That means there's a good chance Sam will still be alive, ya idjit," Bobby growled.

"Sorry," Dean muttered, "So, what's this guy after?"

Bobby scratched his beard for a moment, "Well, they're kind of like vamps, live off of blood but they never used to be a human in the first place. They are attracted to their victims by a person's nightmares and when they feed they secrete a toxin that exacerbates the bad dreams."

"But Sam's been having visions, not nightmares," Dean said, confused.

Bobby shrugged, "Alps aren't too bright. It probably sensed Sam's visions and took 'em for nightmares."

Dean sat back, "Why have Sam's visions been getting really bad?"

Bobby grimaced, "Says here that when a alp finds a person it likes it 'marks' them. Kind of like its staking its territory by biting the person and releasing its venom into the poor bastard's blood stream. The first bite causes prolonged effects because it's the initial contact with the victim; the human body doesn't know what the hell the venom is an' can't fight it. Apparently the victim builds up a resistance after a while and the venom only works immediately after being bitten again."

Dean frowned. That was fucked up.

"So what, they cause nightmares for jollies?" he asked.

Bobby shrugged, "Pretty much. They're attracted to 'em but then keep 'em going once they've got their victim. But blood's what they live off of."

"But Sam hasn't been bitten by anything," Dean told the veteran hunter.

Bobby frowned, "You sure? These things shapeshift too so it could have been something small."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Oh awesome. What else can they do?"

"Turn invisible," Bobby replied and Dean scowled at him.

"It's the hat they wear, see?" he pointed to the picture of the alp, a toque perched on its head, "You can't kill 'em but if you steal its hat it'll have no powers."

Dean nodded, still trying to think of when the creature could have bitten his brother.

"A snake!" Dean exclaimed suddenly, "On our last case we were in the woods trying to find this Black Dog and a snake bit Sam's leg. I thought it was weird the thing wasn't poisonous or anything. I just figured it was a grass snake or something."

Bobby nodded, "That'll do it."

Damn, why didn't I realize something was fishy? Dean thought guiltily.

"So how do we find this thing?" he asked instead.

"They like dark places, away from people so if there are any abandoned buildings we could look there first," Bobby told him.

Dean nodded and stood, grabbing his jacket and the keys to the Impala.

"Alright," he said, "Let's go steal us a magic hat."

SPN

Sam stared up at the creature as it stood over him holding a half-eaten bagel someone had tossed into the trash.

"Food," the monster said, holding the bagel out to him, "Food. Eat."

Sam shook his head slowly, "I can't eat that."

The creature frowned and hissed in irritation.

"Eat!" It growled and shoved the bagel at the young man.

"Sammy!" a familiar voice called and the creature froze for a moment before dropping the bagel and transforming into a small white moth, slipping easily through the mesh of the fence.

"Dean!" Sam called as loudly as he could, "Here! I'm over here!"

Loud footsteps came closer as his brother approached and Sam squinted in the beam of the flashlight Dean shone at him.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, "You look like hell."

"I'll live," Sam said, "Get me out of here."

Dean nodded and moved towards the door.

"Be careful," Sam warned, "That thing can transform and I think it can make itself invisible."

Dean smirked knowingly as he fiddled with the padlock, working to jimmy it open with a pick from his kit.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked.

"You saw its stupid hat?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked in confusion, "Yeah, so?"

"That hat is what makes it do that," Dean told him, "Take that away and it's just a ugly-ass vampire."

Sam opened his mouth to speak when sudden pain tore through his head, causing him to stagger back and cry out.

"Sammy!" Dean called anxiously from the other side of the fence, "Sammy, can you hear me?"

Sam gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.

…"My baby boy," Mary said, holding Sam's face between her hands.

"Mom," Sam whispered, tears stinging his eyes. She was so beautiful.

Mary's smile turned cruel, her eyes hard with hatred. She squeezed Sam's face, her nails digging into his skin.

"You little bastard!" she screeched, "I'm dead because of you!"

Sam tore himself away from his mother, blood flowing down the sides of his face. He stared at her in horror as she advance on him, nails turning into talons…

"Sammy! Sammy? C'mon, wake up," he felt his brother shaking him and he opened his eyes.

Sam was lying on the floor on his stomach; Dean crouched over him, one hand on his back.

"D'n?" he said groggily and his brother patted his back.

"You with me, Sam?" Dean asked and Sam nodded; his brother helping him up.

"Let's go find Bobby," Dean said and Sam stopped, "Bobby's here?"

"Yeah," Dean told him, "He's the one who figured out what this thing was. He's trying to find the lights to this place."

Sam followed his brother down the aisle, one hand against his neck although the wound was not bleeding.

He was on edge, listening intently for the creature's dragging footsteps. Dean didn't seem too concerned about the monster but Sam was actually a little scared.

If the thing could transform itself into something as small as a moth or turn invisible, it could be sneaking up on them right now- and they didn't have any weapons.

"How are you planning on getting the hat?" Sam asked to try and distract himself from his unease.

"Simple," Dean said without turning to look at him, "Grab it right off its head."

"And after that?" Sam asked.

"Run like hell," Dean said jokingly.

"That's not funny."

"I know," Dean replied.

The had reached the end of the aisle and Dean shone the flashlight beam around the area, "Bobby?"

There was no response.

"Shit," Dean swore and swung the flashlight around, "Bobby!"

Sam tensed when he heard the familiar dragging footsteps and he grabbed his brother's arm, turning him around to face the threat.

The creature approached them, one spindly arm wrapped around Bobby's throat. The older hunter didn't appear to be hurt but he didn't look too pleased to have been caught unawares by the monster either.

"Trade," the creature growled, pointing its free hand at Bobby and then at Sam, "Trade."

Dean scoffed, "How about no?"

The monster hissed, "Die!"

The creature's mouth opened wide and ducked down towards Bobby's neck.

It screeched and stumbled backwards, a bullet hole in its belly. The monster released Bobby and the older hunter quickly got out its way.

The alp quickly recovered from the wound and hissed menacingly at the hunters.

Sam's eyes watered as his head once again seared with pain and he grabbed his hair in his hands, crouching down.

…Bobby's expression told Sam all he needed to know. As did the shotgun pointed at his chest.

He was going to die.

"Bobby," Sam whispered, hands held in the air in a gesture of surrender, his back pressed against the old hunter's bookshelf, "Please, don't do this."

"Yer a monster," the man growled, "An' monsters need to be put down."

Sam closed his eyes and jumped when the gun went off, agony ripping through him as the shotgun pellets tore through him…

"Sammy! Damn it! Sam!"

Sam flinched when he heard the sound of a gun going off again and the monster screamed in pain.

He opened his eyes in time to see the alp stagger backwards, a gaping wound in the side of its head. The force had blown the hat right off its head and the garment landed with a wet splat on the cement floor, its fibers soaked with the creature's green blood.

Bobby ran forward as Dean shot the monster again and scooped up the hat. The creature took a couple of wary steps back before turning and fleeing down the aisle and into the darkness, blood dripping on the floor as it went.

"Sam!" Dean cried and was at his side in a second, "Can you get up?"

With Dean holding his arm, Sam shakily got to his feet.

"You didn't kill it," he said faintly.

"They're like cockroaches," Dean said, "Can live through just about anything. At least now it can't really sneak up on people and poison them."

Sam blinked at his brother, confused. He put a hand to the side of his neck but still there was no blood.

"I'll tell you when we get back to the motel room," Dean promised.

"Hey Bobby, you okay?" he asked and the grizzled hunter nodded, "I've been through worse."

"Let's get out of here," Dean said and Sam couldn't agree more.

W

Sam flinched as Dean wiped the last of the alp saliva from the wound.

"Yeah, you're definitely going to need stitches," Dean informed him.

Sam could feel the warm gush of blood already beginning to make its way down his neck. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, "Just get it over with."

He glanced down at the tissues coated with the mucus-like substance; it did look like snot- thick and greenish- but then quickly looked away again, sick to his stomach.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked as he poured alcohol over the needle.

"Tired," Sam admitted, "And my head still hurts."

Dean nodded, threating a length of suture through the eye of the needle, "You sure you want me to do it like this?"

"Yeah," Sam said tightly.

"Bobby says the pain and those freaky visions should go away in a few days," Dean told him, "The alp venom just needs to work its way out."

Sam clenched his jaws together as Dean began to carefully stitch the wound close.

W

Sam gratefully fell onto his bed, one side of his neck covered in a patch of gauze.

"You are a trooper," Dean joked, washing his hands in the bathroom sink.

"Fuck you," Sam muttered, face against his pillow, eyes closed.

"Hey, you were the one who didn't want anything for the pain."

Sam hummed but didn't actually speak. His bed was so comfortable. He just wanted to sleep.

It seemed like rest would have to wait. Dean came over and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Sammy," he said and Sam opened his eyes.

"What I said earlier… at the bar… about your visions," Dean began but Sam pulled himself up on his elbows- a Herculean task- and peered at his sibling, "It's okay, Dean, you didn't know it was the alp."

His brother smiled humorlessly.

"I know but I didn't have to be a dick about it."

Sam sighed. He just wanted to go to sleep.

"It's over, Dean. Okay? Forget about it."

Dean didn't speak for a long moment, "Yeah, yeah, okay."

Sam lay back down when Dean's weight was lifted from the mattress and he stepped back.

SPN

Dean watched as Sam quickly slipped into unconsciousness, snoring slightly into the pillow.

Sighing, Dean turned away and ran a hand through his short hair.

Sam's visions were becoming more and more frequent and they scared the hell out of Dean. He was terrified of what they meant- what they meant for Sam- but that didn't mean he should take his ill ease out on his brother.

Sam was probably just as scared as he was.

He shouldn't be driving Sam away. He should be embracing him.

But John's words echoed eerily in his head every time he got close to Sam.

Dean didn't know how but he was certain his father's final words had some sort of connection to Sam's visions.

Dean may not have all the answers for what was happening but he knew what he was going to do any not going to do.

He was going to save Sam. He wasn't going to let his baby brother get hurt. By anything; even if it was himself he needed to protect Sam from.

He wasn't going to lose his brother.


	22. Soldier Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Elishab64 who wanted a fic where Dean thinks John is pushing Sam too hard during training. Pre-series Teen!Chester where Sam is 13 and Dean is 17.

"C'mon Sam! Pick up the pace!" John shouted at his youngest like a drill sergeant.

Dean watched his brother stumble as he struggled to finish the lap around the public racetrack. John had taken his sons here to continue their training as it afforded optimal space to practice sprints and long-distance running. Luckily, it was the middle of the afternoon on an unusually hot April day when most civilians were in school or at work. They had the track all to themselves.

Dean, who was taller and who had a longer stride than his thirteen-year old brother had finished his laps first, rewarded with a bit of a rest and a bottle of cold water.

"Hurry up, Sam!" John pressed, "You'll never outrun a werewolf at that speed!"

Sam's chest was heaving and he was barely running. He looked exhausted.

"Dad," Dean said, "Maybe he should take a break. It is pretty warm out here."

John shook his head, never taking his eyes off his youngest, "He'll get a break when he finishes the lap."

Dean frowned and gulped down some water, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid running down his parched throat.

SPN

Sam could barely see straight.

He gasped for air but his lungs felt too small to inhale an adequate amount.

His head was throbbing and his muscles ached.

He needed to stop.

He didn't care if it pissed his Dad off.

He just couldn't go any farther.

Sam staggered to a halt and wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead.

"Keep going, Sam!" John shouted, his voice sounding oddly faint though he was only a few meters away, "We're not leaving until you finish!"

Sam closed his eyes as a wave of nausea rolled through him. When he opened his eyes again he was staring at the reddish pavement of the track, one cheek pressed against the hot cerement.

"SAM!"

Sam closed his eyes as Dean shouted his name.

He was okay. He just needed to rest for a minute. Dean didn't have to worry. He'd just take a short break and then he'd finish the lap.

SPN

Dean started running towards his brother as he saw Sam collapse.

Calling his brother's name, Dean's heart pounded in his chest fearfully.

Dropping onto his knees beside his sibling, Dean rolled Sam over onto his back.

Sam's face was terribly pale except for his cheeks, which were bright red as though he had a fever. His skin was slick with sweat but oddly enough was also covered in goose bumps.

Pressing two fingers to Sam's throat, Dean felt his brother's pulse weak but rapid beneath the skin.

"Shit," Dean swore and prepared to pick his brother up.

John trotted over to his sons.

"What's going on?" he asked, his expression alarmed.

"We've got to get Sam into the shade," Dean said, lifting his brother, one hand beneath the thirteen-year old's knees and the other supporting his back, "and give him some water."

John nodded and followed Dean as he hurried towards the entrance of the stadium, which was sheltered from the sun.

Dean stepped beneath the overhang and sat down, cradling his brother against his chest.

"Give me a water bottle," he demanded and John handed him one.

Dean opened the bottle with one hand and poured some of the liquid into his palm. He then carefully rubbed the cool water onto his sibling's brow, brushing Sam's bangs away from his forehead as he did so.

Sam groaned and frowned but didn't open his eyes.

"There, see," John said, "He'll be fine in a minute."

Dean glared at his father.

"If you think Sam's going to get back onto that track you're out of your mind," he snapped.

John stared at his eldest, shocked by Dean's reaction.

"Sam is going to finish his training, Dean," John told the seventeen-year old, "And I don't want to hear another word about it. Wake him up so we can finish this."

Dean couldn't believe his father!

Sam had just passed out and John wanted him to keep going!

Was he insane?

"Sam needs to rest," Dean insisted, "We're going back to the motel."

"Sam needs to suck it up and get back out there!" John snapped, his face turning red.

Dean staggered to his feet, clutching his brother to his chest like an infant.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked, "It is too hot and you're pushing Sam too far. Don't you understand that?"

John stepped up to his eldest until he was nose to nose with Dean.

"I am trying to prepare him for when I'm not here," John said in a low voice, "I'm trying to teach him the skills to survive."

"He's thirteen! He's in the eighth grade! He's a kid; not a Green Beret!" Dean snarled and turned away from John.

"Don't you walk away from me, Dean Ross Winchester!" John called but the teen ignored him.

John sometimes forgot that he and Sam were still kids, not soldiers and needed to be treated as such.

Normally Dean would just shake it off and continue it because their Dad- deep down- was only trying to make sure they were prepared for the day when they had to fend for themselves but this… this took the cake.

When Sam's life was threatened by their father's fanaticism, well, even Dean stopped being complacent and had to put his foot down.

Sam groaned again as Dean opened the door to the interior of the stadium- where the athletes got ready and spectators bought snacks- and a blast of cold air hit them.

"Shh," Dean murmured, "It's okay. I've got ya, little brother."

"D'n," Sam whispered and raised a hand to grab onto the seventeen-year old's t-shirt.

Dean knew that it was going to be awkward in the motel room once John returned but he didn't really care. John could just deal with it. Sam's life wasn't worth making their father happy. Ever.

Dean smiled down at his brother.

"I've got you, Sammy," he murmured again.

He had Sam and Sam had him and as far as Dean was concerned that was all he needed in order to face the things that went bump in the night.


	23. You Are What You Eat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Ravenwing2000: Sam goes out for a walk and is captured by ghouls. Dean manages to find Sam before the ghouls kill him.   
> Set anytime after Season 4, Episode 19 "Jump The Shark".

Sam sighed when his cell phone rang and he saw it was Dean.

"Where are you?" his brother asked, sounding irritated.

"I'm on my way," Sam told him; he was tired and didn't want to start an argument, "If you're in that such of a hurry why don't you come pick me up?"

"You're the one who wanted to go for a walk," Dean reminded him.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You're the one who decided to bring some girl to the motel room. What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, "That's not my problem."

"I'm twenty minutes away," Sam told his brother and ended the call.

It was dark; the sidewalk illuminated by streetlights and a cold rain was drizzling down. Sam frowned and turned up the collar of his jacket. On his right side was a cemetery surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence. Sam slowed his pace and peered inside.

If he cut through the cemetery it would save him at least five minutes.

Deciding Dean would have a meltdown if he had to wait for him much longer, Sam quickly hopped the fence, landing on the other side easily.

Grass and mud squelched beneath Sam's shoes as he made his way across the lawn, heading towards the paved path that snaked through the graveyard.

Walking at a reasonable pace- not dawdling and not jogging- Sam didn't notice he'd attracted the attention of three pairs of eyes. They followed the hunter as he moved through he cemetery, curious that someone would be brave enough to enter on such a dark and stormy night.

SPN

Dean peered nervously between the motel room's curtains. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't worried about Sam but he was.

He didn't like Sam being out on his own- with no protection- after everything that had happened.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean muttered, "Hurry the hell up."

He glanced down at his phone and considered calling his brother again.

No, Dean decided, not yet. It's barely been five minutes. He'll just be pissed if I call him again so soon.

The eldest Winchester peered through the window again and told himself he didn't need to worry.

SPN

Sam frowned and slowed his gait.

Had he just seen a shadow move?

No, he was the only one here. He was just seeing things. The dark and the rain were making it seem as though things were moving when they weren't.

Still, Sam was on edge. He couldn't help it. He started trotting, squinting against the rain and brushing his damp bangs away from his face in annoyance.

An odd sound floated up from somewhere to Sam's left and he stopped. Wiping a hand down his wet face, he frowned.

He could have sworn he'd just heard giggling.

Okay, that was it. He was getting out of here.

Maybe he should have asked Dean to come pick him up.

Sam stared heading towards the fence surrounding the cemetery when he suddenly pitched forward, tripping over a low headstone he hadn't seen in the darkness.

The young man landed hard on his hands and knees, startled but unhurt.

"Shit," Sam muttered and sat up on his knees, wiping his grazed hands off on his jacket.

Sam's head whipped to the side when he heard the sound of giggling again.

"Hello? Is anybody out there?" he called.

Perhaps it was a ghost.

Surely a little kid wouldn't be out in weather like this. And even if they were, Sam was sure they wouldn't be enjoying the experience.

Shaking his head and raking his bangs back, Sam began to stand when he was roughly bowled over onto his stomach. His attacker shoved his head against the ground, bearing their full weight down on his back.

Sam struggled, trying to roll over to dislodge the threat but the grass was too wet and he couldn't get enough tractions.

He heard the giggling again- much closer this time- and passed out when something heavy connected with the back of his head.

SPN

Okay, Dean thought, I'm calling and Sam can be pissed at me all he wants.

Hitting Sam's number on speed dial, Dean waited for his brother to answer.

"Hi, this is Sam, I'm not here-"

Dean didn't leave a message. He lowered the phone and stared at it.

Sam was just ignoring him. That was it.

Gripping the phone tightly in one hand, Dean took a deep breath before dialing again.

"Hi, this is Sam, I'm not here so if you could leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Dean let the recording play the whole way through and was about to speak when he heard a noise coming from the other end of the connection.

It was faint, muffled by the sound of falling rain but it made Dean's blood run cold.

It was giggling.

SPN

Sam woke slowly, the back of his head sending out bolts of pain with every beat of his heart.

He groaned, tasting mud and blood in his mouth.

"Shhh," a feminine voice said suddenly, close by, "He's waking up."

That giggling came again but whoever was doing it was shushed again.

Sam peeled his eyes open and stared up at his attackers, silhouetted as they peered down at him. The hunter was sitting on the ground, his back against the door of a large- and elaborate- mausoleum. A slight overhang prevented rain from falling on the young man and his attackers. Sam's hands were tied behind his back, already going numb from how tight the bindings were. He shivered slightly in the cold. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore and had no idea where it could be; probably out in the middle of the cemetery, along with his cell phone.

There was a muted clicking sound and suddenly a flashlight cast a circle of yellow light on Sam.

Sam squinted in the bright light and it was quickly pointed away, aimed at the cement steps of the mausoleum instead.

"Who are you?" a girl's voice asked and Sam narrowed his eyes as he stared up at the trio of attackers, trying to see them.

"I could ask you the same question," he commented and cried out when he was hit in the face, his head snapping back and connecting painfully with the door behind him.

"You shouldn't have done that!" the girl's voice exclaimed.

The giggler chuckled again and was shushed.

"Who are you?" a boy's voice asked this time and Sam turned his head towards the sound.

"Nobody," Sam replied.

"What were you doing in the grave yard in the middle of the night?" the boy asked.

"Taking a shortcut on my way home," Sam answered truthfully.

The trio moved to one side and began talking to one another quietly. Sam couldn't hear everything that was being said but caught bits and pieces.

"… Some guy trying to get home…"

"… Get in trouble…"

"What are we going to do with…"

"…Nothing here anyway…"

The trio seemed to have come to some sort of decision and approached Sam.

"Can you untie me now? Listen, I won't press charges if you kids promise to let me go," Sam said, trying to sound like a civilian.

Maybe they were just a group of kids looking for cheap thrills in the cemetery and were worried about being caught vandalizing gravestones or whatever. At least that's what Sam hoped.

The giggler chortled again.

"We're not kids," the boy's voice told him, "And we're not going to let you go."

"It's been a long night," the girl broke in, "And we're hungry."

SPN

That was it.

Dean was out of here.

Grabbing his jacket and the keys to the Impala, the eldest Winchester left the motel room, the eerie giggling echoing uneasily in his mind.

Something about it just didn't sound right.

Although Dean wasn't sure where Sam had gone, he had a pretty good clue. The town they were in was small, barely a blip on the map with only a few points of interest: a coffee shop, a library, a tiny museum run by volunteers, and the cemetery.

Dean pulled out of the parking lot quickly, the Impala's wheels bumping over the curb in his haste, and he flicked on the windshield wipers, squinting in the darkness in case- just in case- he caught sight of Sam strolling down the sidewalk.

SPN

Sam's heart was pounding in his chest fearfully. He was trapped. Dean had no idea where he was. And he had ended up being caught by monsters.

The boy holding the flashlight shone it on his friend and Sam saw nothing but a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with long red hair, green eyes and freckles. Her clothes, however, seemed out of place: a dark green velvet dress and black dress shoes. In her hair was a bow that matched the dress.

"What are you?" Sam asked, feeling as though he should be connecting the dots right about now but his head hurt far too much for him to process anything.

The boy grinned and turned the flashlight on himself. He appeared older than the girl- fifteen or so and he too, was wearing formal attire: dress shoes, a grey suit and matching pants, a blue tie. His blond hair was combed neatly against his head.

The final member of the trio surprised Sam. She was the most out of place. A second girl of about five or six years old, she had long curly brown hair and large brown eyes. She wore a white frock dress and white leather shoes. In her hair was a pink satin bow. She was eyeing Sam hungrily; a horrifying expression on the face of a child.

"Can we eat him now?" the little girl asked and giggled.

Ghouls.

They were ghouls.

Sam's eyes widened and he tried to inch away from the monsters, his escape impeded by the fact that he could not get up.

The redheaded girl smiled and stepped forward.

"We've never eaten a live person before," she said, wrapping a finger around a lock of her hair and twirling it.

"You don't want to do this," Sam said, "You're not killers."

The boy laughed, "Yeah? Tell that to hunters! They kill us just because we eat dead bodies. But we've never hurt anyone!"

"Let me go," Sam said, "And you don't have to become monsters."

The boy lunged forward, hitting Sam in the face again, the hunter's nose breaking with a sickening crack.

"What do you know about being a monster? Huh?" he growled.

Sam blinked up at him, licked his lips and tasted the blood that was trickling down his face.

"A lot more than you'd think," he said quietly.

"I'm hungry," the little girl whined, "And talking is boring."

The redhead nodded, "I agree. Let's eat. I'm starving."

Sam cried out as the girl leaped forward, her mouth open wide.

SPN

Dean hunched his shoulders against the rain as he stepped out of the coffee shop. He'd been asking the pretty young barista if she'd seen Sam but unfortunately she hadn't.

The library and the museum were closed now so that left only one more place to check out: the graveyard.

Getting back into the Chevy, Dean cranked up the heat and cruised slowly down the road, keeping an eye out for his brother.

SPN

Sam groaned in pain. He closed his eyes for a moment and started to list to one side.

A hand grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him back upright.

These ghouls appeared to be just what they looked like; kids. Unlike the ones masquerading as Adam Milligan and his mother, these ghouls seemed inexperienced in the art of killing. That, or they just wanted to torture him before finishing him off. Sam was bleeding from a half-dozen bite wounds that they had inflicted, their deceptively sharp teeth tearing through the fabric of his shirt and his skin alike.

Sam felt sick to his stomach as he watched the redheaded girl lick blood away from her mouth.

"C'mon," the boy said, "Don't pass out on us now."

He reached forward and grabbed Sam's hair, pulling his head up. The little girl stepped forward and sank her teeth into Sam's forearm, causing him to cry out and jerk away from her.

The boy and older girl laughed at Sam's vain attempt to escape.

"Enough playing around," the redhead said, "Let's get this over with before anyone finds us."

SPN

Dean easily cleared the fence surrounding the cemetery, landing nimbly on the other side.'

Straightening, he pulled his flashlight from his jacket pocket and turned it on, sweeping it low to the ground.

He was immediately rewarded with the sight of footprints in the rain-softened turf. Although he couldn't make out the grooves on the bottom of the shoeprints he was certain they belonged to his brother.

"Sammy!" Dean called out, following his brother's trail.

"Damn it," he cursed when Sam's footprints suddenly vanished as he stepped up onto the paved path.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, louder than before to try and be heard over the rain.

No response.

Dean swept the flashlight around the area, on either side of the pavement. He took a few steps forward, shone the flashlight around the grass before taking a few steps back and repeated the gesture.

Fan-fucking-tastic. How was he supposed to find his brother now?

Running a hand through his short-cropped hair, Dean was just about to take a chance and pick a direction when he caught sight of disturbed mud by the side of path a few meters ahead of him.

Hurrying forward, Dean could see Sam's footprints clearly once again and followed them off of the path and onto the lawn of the cemetery once more.

Dean kept the flashlight pointed down, walking quickly and paused when he came to a gravestone set low in the ground. Sam had walked right over it. On the other side strange markings, mud and grass had been churned up and there was a long swath of lawn that had been flattened down almost as though something heavy had been dragged across it. Footprints- too small and numerous to be Sam's- followed this odd shaped indentation.

Frowning, Dean swept the flashlight beam around and caught sight of something lying crumpled on the grass. Going over to the object, Dean recognized his brother's jacket. It was wet and muddy.

Dean picked up the garment and fished around in the pockets, finding Sam's phone in one.

"Sammy!" he called, looking up frantically.

Dean tucked the jacket under his arm and began running, following the unusual trail, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

SPN

Sam struggled to breathe but the boy's hand around his throat prevented that.

He could see the two girls watching intently and he closed his eyes.

This was it. He was going to die. He was going to be strangled to death and eaten by ghouls.

He just hoped Dean didn't run into the monsters and-

"SAMMY!"

Sam's eyes snapped open as the hand on his throat loosened.

"D'n," Sam ground out and groaned as the pressure on his neck intensified again.

He flinched when he heard the sound of a gunshot and he heard one of the girls- the little one- cry out in anguish. Her lament was cut short by a second gunshot.

The hand was suddenly ripped away from Sam's throat and he fell onto his side, gasping and chocking for air. Sam watched as his brother punched the boy in the face before raising his gun one last time.

The shot was deathly loud in the confined space, blood splattering everywhere and the body toppled, landing beside Sam.

"Sam," Dean said, kicking the headless ghoul down the steps of the mausoleum and crouching beside his brother, "Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes upward to see Dean's blood-spattered face.

"D'n," Sam said again, this time in relief.

He hissed when Dean cut the bindings around his wrists and helped him side up.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, his throat too sore for him to speak.

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist as gently as he could and pulled him up. He held out Sam's jacket and smiled.

Gratefully, Sam pulled the garment over his shoulders.

"We'll go slow," Dean said and laid a supporting hand on his back as they walked down the mausoleum steps.

SPN

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked concernedly.

Sam was sitting against the headboard of his bed, resting and warming up.

"Like a chew toy," Sam joked, his voice raspy.

Dean smirked at the dark humour. Sam's neck was a mosaic of black and blue and purple bruises. It looked awfully painful but the younger man didn't complain. It probably didn't hurt as much as the bites did. Dean had cleaned them out thoroughly- who knew what kinds of bacteria and germs those ghouls had picked up from their last meal- and stitched the ones that needed it. There was a gash and goose egg on the back of Sam's head and his broken nose had a cut across the bridge. Even his wrists had been rubbed raw in the short time they'd been bound.

All in all, Sam looked like crap.

But he was alive at least.

Dean had gotten to him in the nick of time.

A few seconds later and Sam would have been gone.

"How'd you know they were ghouls?" Sam asked, brining Dean out of his morbid thoughts.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean said, "A bunch of kids in the cemetery on a night like this? What else could they be?"

Sam nodded and rubbed absentmindedly at his throat.

"I hate ghouls," he said, mostly to himself.

Dean smirked, "They seem to have a taste for you."

Sam frowned at him.

"Sorry," Dean apologized, "Couldn't help it."

Sam shrugged, his breath hitching slightly as the motion caused him pain.

"Why don't you lay down and get some sleep?" Dean suggested, "It's late and you've really been through the wringer."

Sam nodded and slowly lay down on the bed, shifting around for a moment to find a comfortable position before finally finding one.

Dean watched as Sam closed his eyes and he couldn't help but think how horribly close he'd been to seeing them close forever.

A lot had happened between them recently but one thing hadn't changed: Dean's love for his brother.

Although he might not show it all the time, Dean couldn't live without Sam. He'd be devastated if Sam were to leave him, willingly or no.

Dean might not always agree with Sam's actions, he might say cruel words to him or even hurt him… but that was only because Dean was terrified of losing him.

Dean stood, made sure his sibling was asleep, and carefully approached his bed.

Reaching out, the older brother brushed his sibling's bangs back from his forehead, just as he'd done when they were younger.

"I love you, Sammy," Dean whispered quietly.

The younger man grunted something in his sleep but Dean didn't hear what it was.

Crossing the room, Dean pulled his boots off and laid down on his own bed, reaching out to turn off the light on the nightstand.

"Love you too, Dean," Sam muttered quietly, smiling as he fell into a deep sleep, secure in the fact that Dean was with him.


	24. The Devil's In The Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from FisherofMen: Sam is driving and almost gets himself and Dean into a car accident because of his hallucinations. Set in Season 7.

"Dean, would you just let me drive?" Sam asked in irritation.

His brother shook his head, "I'm fine. It's just a scratch."

Sam scowled, "You are not fine! That thing clawed you pretty badly."

Dean shrugged and glanced down at his right arm wrapped in his jacket and held against his chest. It was throbbing like a son of a bitch and it was an effort just to hold the limb up but he wasn't going to tell Sam that.

"It's not far from the motel room," Dean assured his brother.

Sam though, wasn't taking any of it, "That's why you should let me drive."

"No way," Dean protested, "I can handle it."

Sam frowned and stepped in front of his sibling, "Give me the car keys, please."

Dean sighed in exasperation and fished the keys from his pocket, "Fine, if it means that much to you."

Dean handed the keys to his brother and stalked off towards their stolen ride.

Sam closed his hand around the set of keys and watched his brother for a moment.

Although Dean hadn't come out and said it, Sam knew why he didn't want him driving- even if it was only the short distance to the motel.

Dean was worried about Sam loose marbles.

Sam guessed Dean had a point but it still hurt that his brother didn't trust him.

"Sam! Hurry up before I bleed to death!" Dean called from the passenger's side of the vehicle, his head and shoulders visible over the car's roof.

Sam nodded and walked forward, unlocking the driver's side door and sitting down before reaching across and unlocking the passenger's side.

"Just go slow," Dean advised as he sat down and buckled his seat belt.

"Sure," Sam muttered tiredly and put the car in drive.

"You can quit it with the puppy eyes," Dean said, sitting ramrod straight in his seat, "You're driving, aren't you?"

Sam glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye as he pulled out onto the main road. Dean's jaw was clenched tight and he had his left hand around his right wrist, holding the injured appendage up. His face was pale and he wasn't relaxed against the car seat.

"He's scared to have you behind the wheel, Sammy," Lucifer piped up from the backseat.

The young man's hands tightened on the steering wheel and he fought the urge to look into the rearview mirror.

He's not real, Sam told himself; it's all in your head.

Lucifer sighed in exasperation, "When are you going to realize that you're just lying to yourself, Sammy?"

"Shut up," Sam said tightly.

Dean peered over at him, "You say something?"

Sam shook his head, "Listen to some music."

He reached out and turned on the stereo, Dean's Metallica cassette began playing 'Devil's Dance' and Sam cringed slightly.

Lucifer chuckled from the seat behind Sam's. The young man hunched his shoulders and leaned forward as far as he could, the Devil's icy breath on the back of his neck.

"Sammy, maybe you should let me drive," Dean suggested but Sam shook his head, "I'm fine, Dean. Really."

Dean didn't say anything else but he kept his eyes on his brother, clearly anxious.

"You know, Sam, driving too slow is just as dangerous as driving too fast," Lucifer commented casually.

The young man glanced down at the speedometer; it was fine.

Just drive, Sam told himself; just ignore him and get to the motel.

Pressing his foot down on the accelerator, Sam heard the car groan loudly in protest as he pushed it to go faster.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, turning down the volume on the stereo, "I was just joking earlier about bleeding to death, you know."

SPN

Dean knew it was a bad idea to let Sam drive.

He just couldn't resist those damn puppy eyes- even now- and he didn't want his brother to feel bad.

But damn, Sam was losing his grip on reality and was that really the kind of person who should be driving?

Sam didn't look too good even though it had been Dean who had been attacked by the Black Dog they were hunting. His face was pale and he'd neglected to shave that morning; he had dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes and his longish hair was starting to look greasy.

Sam pretty much looked like hell.

Which wasn't actually too far from the mark, seeing as what was tormenting him at the moment.

Dean wanted to help his brother- truly he did- but he had no idea how to start. Sure, he'd been to Hell as well but like he'd said all those months ago, Sam's visit was going to make his tour look like Graceland. Whatever had happened to Sam in the Cage seemed far worse then what Dean had gone through by comparison.

Sure, when Dean had returned he'd been plagued by nightmares but slowly he'd forced them back and the bad dreams had soon vanished altogether. Now Dean could sleep peacefully, only occasionally dredging up the horrible memories of torture when he was particularly stressed or tired. But they were nothing he couldn't handle.

But Sam… he was experiencing something completely different. He wasn't even asleep and he couldn't tell what was real and what was just a memory. Dean would know he'd lost his brother when Sam's eyes lost their focus or slowly look away from him to stare at something behind his back or off to the side. Whatever Sam was seeing was preventing him from sleeping properly as well.

With his own nightmares, Dean would just wake up, tell himself he was Topside again and try and get back to sleep once he'd calmed down.

But he'd watched Sam sleep and he knew something was very wrong. Sam would appear to be resting peacefully only to wake suddenly- startled- as though a sound had scared him in his sleep even though the motel room would be quiet. After that he'd just sit up in bed and stare blankly or retreat to the bathroom, closing and locking the door.

The worst part about it was that Sam wouldn't talk. Sam wouldn't tell him what was happening. Sam, his sensitive, clingy little brother refused to confide in him even though Dean wanted him to. Of course Dean didn't want to hear the details of what had happened to Sam in the Cage or what memories were leaking through the decimated Wall in his head, but Sam's silence was unnerving. It was frightening.

Dean gritted his teeth and peered out the windshield.

"You want to go get supper after we get back to the motel?" he asked just to try and cut the quiet in the car.

Sam though, shook his head, "I'm not really hungry, Dean."

The older brother frowned. That was another thing; Sam had all but stopped eating. Oh, he drank enough. The younger man had been drinking enough coffee to drown a small Colombian village, but actual food was off the table.

Dean wasn't stupid; he knew what Sam was doing even if his brother tried to hide it. He wasn't even really angry with his brother he just wanted Sam to be okay.

He didn't want to have to take Sam to a hospital. If that happened, Sam might freak out and that'd land him a one-way trip to a room with padded walls.

Dean felt some relief when Sam pulled onto the road that led to the motel room; they were just a few blocks away.

We're almost there, Dean thought, and in one piece, thank God.

Dean smiled to himself and glanced at his brother.

Sam's expression- while it had been tense since they'd started driving- changed dramatically as Dean watched. Sam's eyes widened and his mouth opened in an 'o' of fear. His hands left the wheel and rose to his face as though fending off an invisible threat. Sam tried to lift his knees up but the dashboard was blocking them and he only ended up cracking them against the steering wheel.

"Sam!" Dean called sharply, "Sammy! The road, Sam!"

The younger man's eyes were glazed and unfocused; he was clearly not seeing the road ahead of them anymore.

"Hands on the wheel!" Dean cried, leaning over to grab his brother's wrist with his good hand, "Put your hands on the wheel, Sam!"

But the younger man was beyond hearing his brother.

Dean grabbed the steering wheel with his good hand and turned it so that they began to drift towards the shoulder of the road and wouldn't be in the middle of traffic.

"Sam," Dean said as they slowly moved to the side of the road, "Sammy, c'mon, snap out of it. You're okay. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you. Sammy? Sammy?"

Once the car had stopped, Dean engaged the emergency brake and unbuckled his seatbelt so that it would be easier for him to turn to his sibling.

He released the steering wheel and gripped Sam's shoulder.

"Sammy?" he said his brother's name loudly, his heart beginning to pound in his chest because what if Sam had finally snapped and wasn't coming back?

Dean dug his fingers into his brother's shoulder and shook him, "SAM! Damn it! Look at me!"

Gradually Sam calmed down. He lowered his hands and peered around as if just noticing that he was sitting in the driver's seat of their most recently 'borrowed' car.

"D-Dean?"

The older brother felt tears sting his eyes at the sound of his sibling's voice.

"I'm right here, Sammy," he said quietly, squeezing his shoulder before letting go.

The hunters remained seated silently for a long moment before Dean spoke again.

"Do you want me to drive the rest of the way?"

To Dean's mild surprise, Sam nodded and opened his door. Dean got out of the car on his side, careful of the traffic rushing by and crossed to the opposite side of the vehicle.

Sam sat down in the passenger's seat heavily and wrapped his arms around his middle.

"Sammy? Are you okay?" Dean asked. Of course Sam wasn't okay but he didn't know what else to say.

Sam started to nod but then he shook his head, "No… I'm not."

"Okay," Dean said as he disengaged the emergency brake and eased the car back onto the road, "We'll be at the motel in a few minutes."

SPN

"Don't ignore me, Sam," Lucifer said, "I don't like it."

The young man's heart sped up at the threat but he told himself not to pay attention to it; Lucifer wasn't real, after all, just a figment of his imagination.

Sam clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Just get to the motel room, he thought; you're almost there.

Sam closed his eyes momentarily. He knew that it would be no different at the motel room- Lucifer would still be there- but he needed to remain calm while he drove.

"Sam," the Devil in the backseat spoke up, "You should know by now not to ignore me."

The young man cringed when an icy hand reached out and touched his shoulder, sharp claws digging into his skin.

…Sam ran even though there was nowhere to run to. He didn't even care where he was going as long as it was as far away from Lucifer as possible.

He was following. Sam knew. He could hear the fallen angel whistling a cheerful tune as though out for a Sunday stroll in the park.

Blood dripped into Sam's eyes and he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve. He peered over his shoulder and saw nothing, no one.

Turning back, Sam cried out in alarm.

Lucifer grinned wolfishly, standing only a few feet away from him.

"You can't run from me here, Sam," he chided, "Surely you know that by now?"

The young man's heart was jackhammering painfully in his chest and his eyes welled with tears of helplessness.

"Please…" Sam begged, knowing it was useless, "Don't hurt me."

Lucifer tsked and shook his head sadly, "If you'd not fought me, we wouldn't be here right now. This is your fault, Sam, this is your punishment for disobedience."

The young man crouched down, holding his hands up to protect his head. He knew it wouldn't help though but the instinct was irresistible. Lucifer swooped down like an eagle upon a mouse.

W

Sam groaned in agony as the razor wire sliced into his back mercilessly. Tied to the rack as he was, he couldn't hold his body up and the wire cut deeply into his flesh.

Lucifer was standing over him, watching.

Sam's breath hitched and tears of fear dripped down his face.

Lucifer reached out with one hand and cupped Sam's cheek but the young man turned his head away, "Don't t-touch me."

The fallen angel lowered his hand.

"So brave," he murmured.

Sam closed his eyes.

"Look at me, Sam," Lucifer said, "Don't ignore me."

The young man opened his eyes slowly and saw the Devil holding a curved, cruel looking blade.

Lucifer leaned over and lowered the blade to Sam's neck, pressing the tip ever so slightly against the base of the young man's throat.

Sam stared up at the fallen angel and waited for him to make his move, his heart jackhammering beneath his chest.

Blood so hot it steamed gushed up as Lucifer buried the knife in Sam's neck, the young man crying out in pain.

The Devil pulled the weapon violently downwards, ripping through skin and muscle, breaking bones.

Sam gasped in agony, blood welling up his throat and dripping down his sides.

Lucifer tore the knife ruthlessly upward and Sam stared at its crimson-stained blade before it was plunged into his body again, the fallen angel grinning the entire time...

SPN

Dean sighed in relief as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel and stopped in their parking space.

He glanced over at Sam and noticed that although his brother had a faraway expression on his face, he didn't seem to be remembering.

"Sam?" he spoke gently, "We're home."

"O-Oh, yeah," Sam muttered tiredly and unbuckled his seat belt, stepping out of the car slowly.

Dean watched his brother for a moment as he walked up to the door of their motel room and leaned heavily against the wall beside it before getting out of the car himself.

Sam was not okay. He'd even said so himself. A major step forward in Dean's opinion considering Sam barely spoke to him about mental state lately.

Stepping up onto the sidewalk, Dean pulled the key fob out and unlocked the door, ushering Sam inside first.

Dean made sure the door was locked before turning to his brother.

"Sam-" he began but his brother interrupted him.

"I- I'm scared, Dean," Sam said quietly, almost in a whisper, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make him go away."

Sam was asking for help. Actually asking Dean to help him.

And Dean had no idea what to do.

"Sammy, I… We'll think of something, okay?" Dean said, "But you've gotta talk to me. I need to know what's going on, alright? I don't know what you're seeing or what you're remembering if you don't tell me."

Sam looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"I can try," he said.

"Sam," Dean continued, "You have to promise me. Talk to me. I know it's hard and I know that you're scared but we'll get through this. Trust me. Let me help you through this."

Sam nodded, biting his lip as his eyes welled with tears.

Dean stepped forward so that he was standing right in front of his brother.

"I'm not going to let this take you away from me," he said quietly, "I promise you that. I will find a way to fix you."


	25. The Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Shannanigans: Sam gets kidney stones. Set during any Season.

"Sam!" Dean called as he hit the bathroom door, "What the hell are you doing in there? It's been twenty-five minutes!"

Sam closed his eye for a moment and gritted his teeth, "Can't you hold on for a moment?"

"I have been waiting patiently for you for almost a half-hour," Dean argued, "I've gotta take a piss!"

Sam sighed and flushed the toilet, pinkish urine swirling around the bowl.

Doing up his pants, Sam washed his hands in the sink, wincing at the pain in his abdomen. He sucked in a deep breath and held it until the sensation passed.

He knew what was wrong. He had kidney stones. They weren't dangerous but they were painful as hell until they passed.

He'd had them once before, while in college. At first he'd thought it was his appendix and Jess had driven him to the nearest hospital in a panic. After being shown into an exam room almost immediately- because if it was Sam's appendix and it ruptured while he was sitting in the waiting room, bad things would happen- and being prodded in the stomach by a doctor, they discovered that it wasn't in fact his appendix. Which was a relief but then Sam had been forced to wait six long hours to get an x-ray that revealed he had kidney stones instead. The doctor had given him something for pain and told him that all he could do was wait until they passed.

It was going to be a long few days if Sam had them again. And with Dean breathing down his neck, it would be even worse.

"SAM!" his older brother bellowed dramatically, "If you don't get out of the bathroom now I'm gonna burst and I'll make you clean it up!"

Sam wrinkled his nose at the thought and opened the bathroom door.

"Thank God!" Dean exclaimed and rushed into the room before Sam could clear the doorway.

Sam shook his head and sat down on his bed. He'd be alright again in a few days.

The bathroom door opened and Dean stepped into the room.

"Ready to go get some dinner?" he asked, sounding much happier now that he'd had the chance to relieve himself.

"Sure," Sam replied and stood, wincing slightly but Dean didn't see.

W

Sam sat down in the booth across from Dean and picked up the menu.

He flicked through the laminated pages until he found the list of salads and paused, reading what the diner offered.

"Hey there, welcome to Bruno's," a young waitress asked in a strong Southern accent.

Dean looked up from his own menu and grinned charmingly at her, "Howdy."

Sam rolled his eyes and looked up.

"Can I get you two some drinks to start off with?" the waitress- Cherry, her nametag read- asked with a seductive smile in Dean's direction.

"Beer," the older brother answered instantly.

Cherry nodded and scribbled on her notepad.

"And you, Sugar?" she asked, turning to Sam.

"Just water," he answered. Normally he'd go for a beer as well but water helped with kidney stones.

"Sure thing," Cherry said, "Let me know if you want something a little stronger, alright?"

Sam shook his head and returned to perusing the menu. Frowning, he stood and set his menu down.

"I'll be right back," he told Dean as his brother looked at him curiously.

"If she comes back, order for me, would you?" Sam asked, "Salad, Dean."

"Sure thing," his brother replied, "You positive you don't want a burger?"

Sam shook his head and headed towards the men's room.

SPN

Dean glanced at his watch and turned around in his seat to see if Sam was making his way back to their table.

Frowning, Dean wondered what was taking his brother so long to use the bathroom.

Cherry had returned five minutes after Sam had left with their drinks and Dean had ordered for both of them.

Although he was tempted to get his brother something full of meat and grease, Dean had decided against it and asked for a Caesar salad instead- at least it had bacon on it- and waited for his sibling to return.

Ten minutes had passed and Dean was getting concerned.

Drumming his fingers on the table, Dean took a quick swig of beer and was just about to stand up and head into the men's room himself when Sam slid into their booth across from him.

"Did you fall in?" Dean asked.

Sam smirked and shook his head, "What? Can't I go to the bathroom without you worrying about me?"

"Not when you take that long," Dean told him and Sam rolled his eyes, "You are getting paranoid in your old age, Dean. Thinking that everything is out to get me every time we step outside."

Dean didn't say anything. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn Sam's eyes looked a little glassy and his face a little pale.

"I got you a salad," Dean told him, "Just like you wanted, Your Highness."

"Just because I don't want to die of a heart attack when I'm forty does not mean I'm being uptight," Sam commented.

Dean smiled, "With our job, I'll be lucky to die of a heart attack at forty."

Sam scowled but didn't say anything else. Instead he shifted his position on his seat, frowning a little bit.

W

Cherry returned with their meals shortly afterwards and Dean couldn't have been happier.

"I'm starving," he announced somewhat needlessly and began eating.

He was halfway through his hamburger when he noticed that Sam's salad was mostly still in its bowl.

"Are you not hungry?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

Sam shook his head, spearing a piece of wilted Romaine on his fork and staring at it.

"You feeling alright, Sam? You look a little pale," Dean observed, pointing at his sibling with a French fry.

Sam shrugged, "I'm okay, just don't feel like eating a mushy salad right now."

"You should have ordered a burger," Dean replied, "They're really good."

SPN

Sam couldn't help but feel relieved when they returned to the motel.

He was not feeling well. His abdomen hurt and he was sick to his stomach. Sam really just wanted to lie down for a little while.

Luckily they weren't on a case so he could do just that. As Dean sat down on the end of his bed and turned on the television, Sam climbed into his own bed and laid down without bothering to change his clothes.

"Hey Sammy, that movie you like is on," Dean said, his back to his brother, "You know, the one with the-"

"Sam?" Dean's tone became concerned, "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," Sam muttered into the pillow, his eyes closed.

"Oh," Dean replied, "Oh, sure."

Sam heard the volume on the TV turn down and he quickly slipped into unconsciousness.

W

Sam's eyes snapped open. He was shivering and he curled up. While asleep, he'd kicked the blanket down to the end of the bed and he was too tired to sit up and grab it. The mote room was dark and Sam wondered how long he'd been asleep for. He could hear Dean snoring in the bed next to his so it must be late.

Sam lay awake for a moment before the call of nature forced him up. He yawned and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

Sam gave a cry at the sharp pain that exploded in his side as he stood; it felt as though someone was twisting a knife between his ribs.

Dean grunted in his sleep but didn't wake. Sam stumbled the short distance to the bathroom and closed the door, turning on the light.

Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, Sam frowned. His face was pale with dark circles beneath his eyes, like he hadn't slept in a couple of days.

Shaking his head slightly, Sam went over to the toilet, lifted the seat and unzipped his pants.

A moment passed and nothing happened.

Sam knew he had to take a piss but nothing was coming out.

Reaching out, Sam braced one hand against the counter and waited.

W

"Sam, how long are you gonna be?"

The young man looked up at the sound of Dean's voice and frowned.

How long had he been standing there?

"Hold on a minute, Dean," he muttered, "Geez, can't I go to the bathroom in peace?"

"It's the middle of the night," Dean informed him, "What the hell are you doing in there?"

Sam didn't answer. Finally- finally- he was able to relieve himself. The light pink stream though was slightly troubling. Gritting his teeth in pain, Sam finished and zipped his pants up, washing his hands quickly and opening the door.

Dean gave him an odd look as they crossed paths and closed the door behind him.

"Sam!" Dean suddenly shouted and the bathroom door flung open.

"What?" Sam replied; he just wanted to sleep.

"The hell is that?" Dean asked, pointing to the toilet.

For a moment Sam stared at him, confused, before he realized he'd forgotten to flush.

"Uh…" he stammered.

"You're sick! I'm taking you to a hospital," Dean exclaimed, a look of panic on his face.

Sam held his hands out as Dean tore from the bathroom and grabbed the car keys from where they sat on the small table.

"Dean, I don't need to go to the hospital," he said in his most placating tone.

Dean turned and stared at Sam as though he were crazy.

"There's blood, Sam! That's not right," he exclaimed.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam tried again, "You're blowing this way out of proportion."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, "Care to tell me why we shouldn't drive to the hospital right now and get you checked out for some STD or-"

Sam scowled, "It's not an STD, Dean, its kidney stones."

Dean stared at him for a moment, "Kidney stones?"

Sam nodded, "It's okay, they're not deadly or anything. Just painful."

"And you don't have to go to the hospital for them?" Dean asked, apparently calmed down somewhat.

Sam shook his head, "Not usually."

"When were you planning on telling me about it?" Dean asked and Sam sighed, "I wasn't."

"Why not? Shouldn't I know something like that?" Dean asked, his tone irritated.

"No, because it's no big deal and because I know you'd freak out," Sam replied.

"You're sure you're okay though?" Dean asked, seemingly more worried about his brother than to feel insulted by what he'd just said.

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Sorry I scared you."

Dean gave his a look that said 'you'd better be' before setting the car keys back down and returning to the bathroom, flushing the toilet before relieving himself.

SPN

Dean woke slowly, groaning at the sun shining directly on his face.

Sighing he rolled onto his back and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand between the two beds. It was almost ten o'clock in the morning.

At least Sammy let me sleep in, Dean thought; damn, he's quiet.

Normally his brother tried to let him sleep when he woke before him- which was almost all the time- but with Dean's training, even the slightest noise Sam made eventually because too much and woke him up.

Dean glanced over at Sam's bed, expecting it to be empty and found it still occupied.

Sam was lying curled up on his side, his back to Dean.

Dean frowned; Sam rarely slept in.

Sitting up, Dean peered more closely at his brother. Sam's breath was fast-paced and shallow and he was visibly shivering.

Shit, Dean thought and stood quickly, crossing to his brother's side.

"Sam?" he said and touched his sibling's shoulder.

The younger man groaned but didn't wake up. Dean placed a hand on Sam's brow and frowned at the heat coming from his skin.

A fever wasn't good. Not at all.

"Sam, c'mon man," Dean shook Sam's shoulder, "Wake up."

Sam opened his eyes slowly, "M'okay, D'n."

"You're really sick," Dean told him.

"Just… stones," Sam muttered and closed his eyes again.

"I don't think a fever is part of the package, Sammy," Dean told him and grabbed his shoulders, "We are going to the hospital."

Sam protested, tugging at Dean's hands, "Don' need to, D'n."

"Maybe," Dean growled, "But it'd sure make me feel a hell of a lot better if we went."

Sam sighed and stood shakily.

"Grab your shoes," Dean told him as he picked up his jacket and the car keys.

Sam shuffled over to where he'd left his shoes the night before when they'd returned from the diner and sat down heavily on the end of his bed to put them on.

"Gotta go to the bathroom," Sam muttered and started to stand but Dean reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, "Not like that you're not. I don't want you falling over and hurting yourself. You can barely stand as it is."

Dean guided his brother towards the door and opened it, ushering Sam outside.

W

It didn't take long to drive to the hospital. Dean parked and headed into the Emergency entrance with Sam at his side. He made sure Sam was sitting in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs before heading to the nurses' station and explaining the situation.

The nurse- an older woman with grey hair- told Dean to fill out some paperwork and wait until a doctor called them.

Dean returned to his brother's side as he completed the forms, frowning when he saw that Sam could barely keep his eyes open.

"Gotta go to the bathroom," Sam told him as though he'd only just remembered himself.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, "One second."

He stood and returned the forms to the nurses' station before leading Sam towards the bathroom.

He guided his sibling to a stall instead of a urinal and stepped into the small space with him. Dean didn't want Sam falling and hurting himself.

Sam slowly lifted the toilet seat and unzipped his jeans. Dean made a point of reading the graffiti on the walls of the stall as his brother stood poised to pee.

Nothing happened.

Dean frowned.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked, still not looking, knowing his brother would be terribly embarrassed.

"Hmm," Sam muttered a reply and reached out with one hand to touch the wall beside him, bracing himself.

"Don't need a hospital my ass," Dean grumbled as he waited… and waited… and waited.

Eventually Sam went and Dean left the stall to wait in the main area of the bathroom. Luckily no one had come in while they were sharing a stall- that would have been awkward- and it remained quiet as Sam exited and washed his hands in the sink.

Out in the waiting room again, Dean grabbed a magazine, knowing that it would probably be a while before a doctor saw his brother.

W

"Sam Brewster?" a youngish doctor called and Dean heaved a sigh of relief.

After four hours of sitting around, he was ready to shoot someone.

Grasping his brother's arm, Dean led Sam towards the physician.

"I'm his brother, Dean," he explained to the doctor and the man nodded, peering down at the form he had filled out.

"Your brother has kidney stones? How long has this been happening?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't really know. I only found out last night."

"Has he been experiencing any other symptoms besides the fever and discoloured urination?" the doctor asked.

"Maybe," Dean replied, "He wasn't really hungry at dinner last night, if that means anything."

Dean glanced at his brother for help but Sam was out of it, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

"I'll need to do some tests to determine exactly where the stones are," the doctor explained, "And I'll also give your brother something to bring his fever down."

"Okay," Dean replied, knowing that soon Sam would be leaving him.

"I will come and let you know what I find and what the next step should be."

Dean nodded. The doctor took hold of Sam's other arm and Dean released him.

Sam peered confusedly at him, "D'n? Where you goin'?"

"Back to the waiting room, Sammy," Dean replied, "You have to go with the doctor. He'll get you all sorted out."

Sam didn't look happy about that arrangement and peered over his shoulder as the doctor began leading him away from his brother.

Dean quickly turned away. It was stupid, he knew, but Sam's puppy eyes were getting to him.

Returning to the waiting room, Dean sat down again and sighed.

W

"Dean Brewster?"

The older brother looked up instantly at the sound of the doctor's voice but frowned when he didn't see Sam with him.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, starting to feel nervous.

"He's in an exam room," the doctor told him.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean wanted to know.

The doctor nodded, "I think I'd like to do a shock wave lithotripsy on your brother."

Dean frowned, "What is that?"

"It is a procedure that uses shock waves to break up the kidney stones into smaller pieces so that they can pass through the urethra easier."

"Okay," Dean said uncertainly.

"It has some side-effects though," the doctor said, "it can cause bleeding, bruising on the back or abdomen and it is painful but it is the least intrusive way to remove kidney stones."

"What are the other options?" Dean asked, mostly out of curiosity.

"Surgery," the doctor told him bluntly.

"Okay," Dean said and sighed, "Do the shock wave thing."

The doctor nodded, began to turn to leave before pausing, "Would you like to stay with your brother during the procedure?"

Dean said he would and followed the doctor down the hallway.

W

Dean watched over Sam while the doctor worked. Although his brother was anesthetized and didn't know he was there, Dean felt better being at Sam's side.

The doctor set up a machine that to the eldest Winchester looked a little bit like a laser from an action movie and pointed it at Sam's abdomen. The table Sam lay on was specially designed, with an area for a soft cushion filled with water to lay against his brother's kidneys. A screen on one side of the machine showed the doctor exactly where the stones where so he could direct the shock waves.

The procedure took an hour and afterwards the doctor was confident the stones had been blasted into small enough pieces that they wouldn't give Sam too much trouble to pass anymore.

Dean followed his brother as Sam was taken to a room to recover.

"When he wakes up," the doctor said, "get him to drink some water. It's important that he has a lot of liquids."

Dean nodded and promised he would, thanking the nurse who brought in a pitcher of water and a plastic cup.

Dean sat down in the chair left for visitors and grabbed his brother's hand.

"Even you can make a mountain out of a molehill, Sammy," he muttered and brushed his sibling's bangs away from his brow.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly.

Why was he so sore?

Oh yeah, the kidney stones.

He groaned in pain and tried to sit up, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hold on a minute," Dean's voice said, "Give yourself time to wake up."

Sam settled back down and blinked up at his brother.

"D'n?" he muttered, his mouth feeling dry.

"Hey, Sammy," his brother replied.

Sam realized that the quality of light was far brighten than it should have been for their motel room and it smelled strongly of ammonia.

"Where are we?" he asked tiredly.

"The hospital," Dean told him, "You were spiking a fever."

"How are you feeling? Are you in pain?" Dean asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"A little bit," Sam replied.

Dean nodded, "The doctor said it might leave bruises."

"What?" Sam asked, suddenly wide-awake, "What happened?"

"Whoa! Calm down Sammy," Dean exclaimed, "You're okay."

"What happened?" Sam asked again, eyeing his brother suspiciously.

"The doctor used this cool machine to smash all those kidney stones to little bits so they'd be easier to piss out," Dean informed him.

"Oh," Sam muttered and started to close his eyes again. He was just so tired.

"Sam, hey," Dean squeezed his shoulder and he opened his eyes.

The older brother's expression was serious now.

"Next time you tell me when you're sick," he ordered, "Got it?"

"But Dean-" Sam began but his brother held up a hand, "I mean it, Sam. I know you thought you could handle this on your own but it turned out you needed help."

Sam glanced down, suddenly ashamed.

"What would have happened if I hadn't found out, huh?"

Sam shrugged, "I don't know."

Dean reached out and turned Sam's head so he was looking at him, "You know you're a magnet for trouble. I hate to say it but even the simplest things seem to become very complicated when you're involved."

"I didn't think it was a big deal," Sam explained, "When I got them at school it was fine. Jess freaked out though. Thought it was my appendix."

Dean released his brother's face and sighed.

"I just didn't want you to worry if you didn't have to, Dean," Sam told him, "That's all."

Dean's eyes pinched, "I'm always going to worry, Sammy. Whether you stub your toe or get shot, I'm going to worry about you. That's my job."

Sam couldn't help but smirk just a little bit, "Seems like a shitty job to me."

"Don't be a smart-ass," Dean chided, "That's my thing."

Sam chuckled before turning the puppy-eyes on and peering at his brother, "I'm sorry you worried, Dean. I'll let you know next time I get sick. Even if it is just a stubbed toe."

Dean snorted, "Yeah, okay Sammy."

Sam was about to close his eyes when Dean reached over and offered him a plastic cup of water.

"Drink up," Dean said, "The doctor said this'll help evicting those little bastards easier."

Sam rolled his eyes and took the cup, grateful for the cool liquid on his parched throat.

"Hurry up so we can get out of here," Dean told him and Sam sighed, unable to help but smile.

He was so lucky to have a brother who was as concerned about his wellbeing as Dean was. Even though it drove him crazy half the time.

Sam wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Dean would likely not be allowed into the room while the doctors preformed the Shock Wave Lithotripsy- it is a medical procedure- but I didn't want to leave him in the waiting room the entire time. He'd been out there long enough.


	26. The Cold Shoulder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Katlover98: Set in Season 8, after Episode 14 "Trial and Error". Sam goes to a bar after fighting with Dean. When Sam leaves, Dean goes to a different bar and finds a girl to hook up with for the night. Meanwhile, Sam returns to the motel but does not have his keys to get into the room and the front desk in the office is unattended. Sam decides to wait until Dean comes back but it is an unusually cold night and he gets hypothermia.

"It was my job, Sam!" Dean growled angrily, "I was supposed to kill that Hellhound!"

Sam didn't know what to say anymore. He was tired of trying to justify himself to his brother. If he hadn't acted as he had, the hound could have seriously injured either of them and killed Ellie.

Besides, there was no point in arguing about it now. Sam had started these Trials and he was going to finish them, regardless of what Dean thought.

"I'm not getting into this again," Sam told his brother, his tone exasperated.

The younger man stood and headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, irritated.

"Out," Sam told him, "I'll be back in a while. Don't wait up for me."

"Sam!" Dean shouted but his brother was out the door.

Sam sighed and raked a hand through his longish hair before turning and walking down the sidewalk. He could use a drink. Their motel wasn't too far from a bar and Sam began walking that way.

A chilly wind blew in from the North and Sam shivered a little, wishing he'd grabbed his jacket before leaving.

Oh well, the bar was within walking distance and he'd be inside and warm soon.

He just needed to get away from his brother for a little while.

Sam knew that it was just Dean being Dean; looking out for him like always, but sometimes it pissed him off that Dean thought he couldn't do things on his own, that he needed his big brother to do everything for him.

It wasn't only Sam's desire to do something on his own that had him completing the Trials… Sam had screwed up so much in the past that he wanted… no; he needed to do something right for a change.

If he could finish these Trials and lock the doors to Hell forever, that just might make up for every wrong he had done in the past.

But of course Sam wasn't going to tell Dean any of that. He'd just continue on and act as though he had been in the right place at the right time to kill that Hellhound and that was the end of it.

Sam felt better already at the sight of smokers standing in front of the bar, the red glow of their cigarettes illuminating their faces for a brief moment in the darkness.

Pulling open the door, Sam was buffeted with a blast of hot, sticky air and loud music. Although he didn't really like bars all that much- they were more Dean's scene than his- Sam looked forward to the prospect of a cold beer and time alone to think.

SPN

Dean stared after his brother as Sam walked out of the room.

Damn it! Why didn't Sam ever listen to him? He said he could take care of the Trials himself!

And now Sam was adamant he continue with them. Dean thought he was crazy. He was sure that if he killed a Hellhound he could do the Trials, despite what Kevin said but there were none to be found. Crowley certainly wasn't going to let any of his pets wander around with the Winchesters loose.

Dean guessed it didn't really matter. Once Kevin told them what the next Trial was, Dean was going to do it.

Deciding that he wanted some company for the night, Dean turned off the television he hadn't been watching and grabbed the Impala's keys. He slipped his leather jacket on and frowned, noticing that Sam had left his coat hanging off the back of the chair.

Oh well, Sam if wanted to act like a big boy, Dean was going to let him. He wasn't going to chase after his sibling just to make sure he had his coat on. Besides, it wasn't too cold out.

Dean locked the door to the motel room and crossed the short distance to the driver's side of the Impala. Sitting down, Dean sighed and turned on the stereo, Foreigner's 'Cold As Ice' blaring from the speakers.

Starting the old Chevy, Dean pulled out of the parking lot just as fat, wet flakes began to drift from the night sky.

Scowling slightly, Dean turned on the windshield wipers.

"Snow! Can you believe that Baby? And it's almost the end of April!" Dean grumped to his beloved car, and headed down the street, searching for a promising-looking bar.

SPN

Sam picked the label off his bottle of beer distractedly. He'd been sitting by himself at the bar for a few hours now; his demeanor telling the other patrons that he wanted to be left alone.

Sam glanced over at the Coors Light-themed clock across the bar and decided that he should head back to the motel room. He was tired of the loud music and raucous crowd around him.

Standing up, Sam left some money on the bar for his drink and headed towards the exit. Cold air chilled him almost instantly as the young man stepped outside, two inches of snow crunching underneath his shoes.

Sam pushed his bangs away from his face and glanced up at the snowflakes still falling. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Sam shivered a little bit, the cold especially noticeable after sitting the humid bar for a couple of hours.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and hunching his shoulders, Sam began to walk back to the motel.

SPN

Dean grinned at the blonde girl sitting a couple of seats down from him at the bar. She was wearing a silver dress covered in sequins and metallic silver pumps. Her low-cut dress showed off a pleasing amount of cleavage and the short hemline stopped halfway up her thigh.

Besides that, she had a sweet face that Dean found irresistible.

He motioned to the bartender and asked what the girl was drinking; when she finished her first drink, Dean ordered her another one on the sly before she had a chance to do so herself.

He watched from the corner of his eye, drinking a beer, as the young woman looked surprised that someone had bought her a drink before smiling and glancing around, searching for the would-be Don Juan.

Dean met her gaze and gave her his most charming smile. The girl returned the gesture, picked up her drink and daintily took a sip before motioning for him to join her.

Dean moved over; tonight was going to be a very good night.

SPN

Sam's breath plumed out in front of him as he crossed the motel parking lot. Glancing up, he frowned. The Impala was gone.

Sighing, Sam paused and felt around in his jeans' pockets for his room key even though he was sure it wouldn't be there. It wasn't. And neither was his phone. Both were still in his jacket, locked in the room.

He guessed he'd have to go to the front desk and ask for a spare key.

Turning towards the office, Sam frowned when he saw that the lights were dimmed and there was no visible movement from inside.

Picking up his speed, Sam trotted across the parking lot and peered through the glass window into the office.

Most of the lights were out and the desk was unoccupied.

"Hey!" Sam called, "Anybody there? I got locked out of my room!"

No one appeared. Sam reached down and tried the doorknob but it didn't move.

"Great," Sam sighed and turned around.

He had no idea where Dean was and no way of contacting him.

Sam walked slowly down the sidewalk to his room and tried the door there, just in case. Dean though, had made sure to lock it as he left incase the cleaning crew decided to come by.

Sam looked around for a moment. No one else was around. The few neighbours the Winchesters did have were either out themselves or in bed for the night.

Just wait, Sam thought, Dean won't be too long.

Sam leaned against the door; his arms crossed over his chest and stared out at the falling snow, eyes sharp for the familiar Chevy Impala rumbling down the road.

SPN

The blonde girl tugged Dean into her apartment by his wrist and giggled.

Honey- that was her real name- began removing her clothing as she led Dean deeper into her home.

First she kicked off her shoes.

Then her panties found their way onto the floor.

Her dress slithered off her lithe form to pool on the carpet like liquid mercury.

Her bra magically vanished somewhere in the kitchen.

Once they were in the bedroom, Honey turned to Dean, released his wrist and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

The girl made a pleased sound as Dean's clothes hit the floor. She climbed onto her bed and laid a hand on the back of the man's neck, pulling him down towards her.

SPN

Sam shivered and rubbed his arms.

Where the hell was Dean?

Sam stomped his feet, frowning when he realized that he couldn't feel his toes.

How cold was it out here anyway?

Sam sighed, his breath condensing in the chilly air and slid down the door until he was sitting.

When was Dean coming back?

Sam's teeth chattered and he clenched his jaw.

What time was it? Surely it couldn't be that late.

Sam tried to flex his fingers and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion when the digits didn't react. He shoved his hands into his armpits to try and warm them up.

Closing his eyes, Sam leaned his head back against the door.

Dean shouldn't be long now. He'd be back soon.

SPN

Honey grinned up at Dean, her blonde hair fanned out around her head.

Dean glanced at the girl's alarm clock and saw that it was growing late.

Sam probably wouldn't stay long at the bar- Dean was sure he was there because everything else was closed this time of night- and might return to the motel any time now.

Before Dean could cut and run, Honey spoke up, "All that exercise has made me hungry, how about you?"

Dean gave the young woman a reassuring smile, "It did. But it's late and I've really gotta go. My kid brother-"

Honey sat up abruptly, "It's not that late. Please stay, just for a little while longer."

Dean shook his head, "It's been great but I-"

Again he was interrupted, "I have pie."

The girl certainly knew how to give a guy a good time, Dean would give her that and apparently she also knew the way to a man's heart, his especially.

"Alright," Dean said and Honey jumped up, grabbing a long nightshirt from her dresser and slipping it on.

Dean stood and grabbed his boxers and his pants, pulling them on as the girl practically hopped from foot to foot impatiently.

Talk about an eager beaver, Dean thought and grinned as he followed the girl to her kitchen.

SPN

Why was he outside?

Oh, yeah, Dean wasn't here and the door was locked.

Sam peered up at the door handle.

He didn't even have anything to jimmy the lock with. No paperclips or safety pins.

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

He glanced down at his shoes. He still couldn't feel his feet and he knew that was a bad thing.

Leaning forward, Sam unlaced his shoes and pulled them off. Reaching out, Sam rubbed his chilly feet, trying to get some warmth into them again.

SPN

"Do you like it?" Honey asked as Dean ate his first slice of pie.

It was peach and very sweet. Perfect.

"This is the best pie I've ever had," Dean told her and the girl blushed, "I made it myself."

Dean quickly polished off his slice and stared longingly at the remaining pie, "Could I have another?"

"Of course!" Honey exclaimed and cut him a generous piece.

One more and then I'll go back to the motel room, Dean told himself.

SPN

Sam's chin rested against his chest.

He was just so tired. He could barely keep his eyes open. It must be pretty late at night.

Why was he out here?

Where was Dean?

Sam sucked in a shallow breath and let it out, the condensation from its heat reminding him of the smokers out in front of the bar.

He wondered what the next Trial was going to be.

He hoped Kevin figured it out soon.

He needed to show Dean he didn't always need his help.

He needed to make amends for all his mistakes.

Sam lifted his head and blinked slowly.

Where was everyone? Why was it so quiet?

Maybe he should see if anyone was in the office.

Sam reached up and grabbed the door handle, pulling himself to his feet.

He swayed slightly and rubbed his eyes with his fists for a moment before turning towards the office.

Headlights suddenly illuminated the glass walls of the office area and Sam took a step forward.

Someone was there! They'd be able to give him a key!

"Hey!" Sam called as the person- an elderly man- stepped out of the car and unlocked the door to the office.

"Hey!" he called again as the man opened the door and stepped inside.

Sam frowned. The man hadn't heard him.

Sam took another step forward and faltered.

He should wait for Dean.

Yeah, that sounded good.

His brother might worry if he came back and didn't see him.

Sam turned away shuffled the short distance back to the door of the motel room, sitting down heavily.

SPN

"It's been great," Dean told Honey, "You're an awesome girl. But really, I have to go."

The blonde sighed but nodded, "I know."

Dean frowned. He felt bad for her. It was clear that she was lonely. But right now he could only deal with one clingy person in his life.

Dean smiled encouragingly at her, "I'm sure you'll meet a real nice guy."

Honey chuckled, "It was nice spending the night with you, Dean."

He nodded once, checking his pockets to make sure he had everything.

"Look me up next time you're in town?" she asked and Dean said he would even though he probably wouldn't.

He walked down the hallway, hearing Honey's door close softly behind him and took the elevator to the first floor.

He hoped that his brother had gotten over his hissy fit from earlier because he really didn't want Sam to give him the silent treatment for the rest of the night; he really hated that.

As Dean stepped out into the parking lot of the apartment building he when he saw snow covering the Impala.

This was ridiculous! Really, it was! Snow when it was nearly May for Pete's sake!

Unlocking the trunk, Dean pulled the snowbrush out and wiped off the car.

Once he was satisfied, Dean tossed the brush into the backseat and sat down behind the wheel.

W

It didn't take long to drive back to the motel- only about ten minutes- and for that Dean was glad.

As he entered the parking lot though, he frowned.

Was that a person sitting outside his motel room?

Who could that-

Oh no… Sam!

Dean pressed his foot down on the gas and hurried towards the room, the Impala jerking to a halt in the parking space.

Dean flung open his door and stepped out, hurrying to his sibling's side.

"Sam! Sammy!"

The younger man was sitting with his back to the door and his legs out in front of him; his chin was resting on his chest and his hair obscured his eyes.

Dean reached out and lifted his brother's head, one hand against a chilly cheek.

"Sam? SAM? Can you hear me?" Dean asked frantically.

"Shit," he swore as slowly Sam opened his eyes.

"D'," Sam muttered, his teeth chattering.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" Dean asked but didn't even bother waiting for an answer.

Sam needed to get inside and warmed up.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked and Sam's eyes slipped closed again.

"I guess that's a no," the older brother said and pulled his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door but didn't open it yet.

Reaching down, Dean grabbed his brother under the armpits and heaved him up. Luckily their father had been adamant about their learning survival skills and had taught his sons what to do in case of hypothermia (among other things).

Sam groaned in protest but Dean ignored him and kicked open the door.

As carefully as possible, Dean half-carried half-dragged his brother over to the bed nearest the door- because right now he didn't have time to be particular about such things) and laid him on his back.

Dean hadn't bothered making his bed up earlier that day and the duvet lay crumpled on the floor at the end of the bed.

He took Sam's wrist, feeling his brother's pulse; it was there but it was weak and slow.

He needed to get Sam warm now.

"D'," Sam called out.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean ground out.

His sibling's clothes were wet from walking home in the snow and then sitting on the cement in front of the room.

Dean knew he should not be moving his brother around too much so he went to his duffel bag and pulled out a hunting knife.

Careful so as not to accidently nick his brother, Dean took hold of the hem of one leg of Sam's jeans and cut it right up the middle, doing the same to the other leg.

Next he carefully peeled Sam's socks off, grimacing at the blue toes.

"God I hope you didn't get frostbite," Dean muttered to his sibling as he tugged Sam's ruined pants out from under him.

Sam had been wearing a button-up shirt so Dean ripped it open before cutting the sleeves lengthwise and pulled the garment away from his sibling, dropping it on the floor. Sam's t-shirt went the same way as his trousers and button-up.

Dean set the knife aside and took his jacket off, draping it on the end of the bed.

Without even thinking about it, Dean quickly undressed until he was only wearing his boxers, just like Sam.

Grabbing the blanket from his brother's bed, Dean climbed onto the mattress beside his brother and lay down next to him. Gathering his duvet and jacket, Dean settled them over both himself and Sam.

It was dark beneath the blankets but Dean knew what to do. He shifted over until he was laying on his side, reaching out to roll Sam over so that he was in the same position and inched closer until his chest was against his sibling's icy back.

Dean resisted the urge to rub his brother's arm, knowing that the movement could cause a heart attack. He draped one leg over his brother's, trying to share as much of his body heat as possible.

Dean closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself for not returning earlier as he had meant to.

"C'mon Sammy," he whispered, "You're gonna be okay. I've got ya. It'll be alright."

The minutes seemed to drag on as Dean waited for Sam's internal body temperature to rise. He pressed two fingers against his sibling's neck every so often to check his pulse and slowly it began to beat stronger and more regular, a good sign.

After an hour, Dean poked his head out from underneath the covers; he was sweating.

Quickly, so as to conserve as much warmth beneath the blankets for Sam as possible, Dean got off the bed.

Sam would be okay as long as he remained underneath the duvets. Dean pulled the blankets down so that Sam's face was exposed but nothing else.

Where Sam's face had been chalk-white and his lips blue, they were now a healthier hue pink with the warm blood now flowing through his veins.

Dean sighed deeply and ran a hand through his short hair.

What a night.

He gathered his discarded clothes and shoved them into his duffel, piling his brother's ruined garments in a corner to be thrown out later.

Dean then sat down on the edge of his brother's bed and peered down at the younger man.

Sam may have thought he was an adult and as such he should be able to take care of himself and make his own decisions but for Dean, he would always be his baby brother.

Dean reached down and brushed his sibling's bangs away from his brow.

To Dean's surprise, Sam's eyes opened.

"D'n," Sam whispered.

"Hi, Sammy," Dean replied.

"You came back," Sam said.

Dean smiled, "I always do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The symptoms of hypothermia are shivering, clumsiness or lack of coordination, slurred speech or mumbling, stumbling, difficulty thinking and confusion, poor decision making, drowsiness, loss of consciousness and slow, shallow breathing. I got the list from the Mayo Clinic's website.


	27. Heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from jo1966: Sam gets set up by a girl and the bullies at his school to go on a date, and gets his heart broken because he thought the girl really liked him.   
> Teen!Chester where Sam is 16, Dean is 20.  
> Warning: This story features extreme physical bullying and violence.

Dean looked up, surprised when Sam stepped out of the bathroom.

His brother was wearing the nicest clothes he had: A dark blue dress shirt, a pair of brand new jeans and his boots instead of his sneakers.

Dean smirked, "Going somewhere?"

Sam looked up and smiled, "Yeah… I kind of have a date with this girl from school-"

Dean jumped up from where he had been lounging on his bed and grabbed his brother in a bear hug, "A date! My baby brother's growing up so fast!"

"Get off me, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, laughing and tried to flatten his hair, which wanted to stick up instead.

"Who's the lucky girl?" Dean asked, excited that his brother was finally coming out of his shell.

"Her name's Amber," Sam told him, "She's really nice even though she's a cheerleader."

Dean grinned; cheerleaders were the best.

"Where are you taking her?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "Just to Jay's, everyone goes there."

Dean nodded; he had seen the restaurant but hadn't gone in. Too many high school kids for his liking, even if some of the girls had been hot.

"How'd you meet Amber the Cheerleader?" Dean asked, curious to know how Sam had managed to get a popular girl interested in him.

Sam glanced down, clearly embarrassed, "Well… she needed help with Chemistry and I offered to tutor her."

"Aww," Dean said, "That's adorable, Sammy."

The sixteen-year old glared at him for a moment but Dean just chuckled.

Standing, the twenty-year old grabbed the keys to the Impala and his jacket. It was just the two brothers; John had left almost a week ago on a 'business trip' with another hunter named Barlow and had taken his newly-purchased truck with him, leaving the Chevy.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked his brother.

"I'm not going to let you walk to the diner, Sam," Dean told him, "You're going to arrive in style."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean drove him to the high school every morning; it wasn't like anybody would be seeing the Impala for the first time.

"Sam, let me do this for you, okay?" Dean asked, "Call when you're ready to come home and I'll pick you up, don't walk home."

Sam smiled. He had such an awesome brother.

"Okay, Dean," he said and followed his sibling, grabbing his jacket on the way out the door.

Dean seemed absolutely giddy as he drove, happy for his brother.

"Is it just the diner? Or are you going to take her to a movie after?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "Just dinner."

Dean frowned a little and took one hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his wallet from his jacket pocket, tossing it to his brother.

Sam caught the object and stared at his sibling.

"Take a twenty, Sammy," Dean told him.

"Dean, I can't," Sam argued; Dean had been working hard at the local auto repair shop, he couldn't take his money.

"Yes, you can, Sam," Dean insisted, "This is your first real date, it should feel like it."

Sam nodded and slipped a twenty-dollar bill from the wallet, handing it back to Dean.

W

As the Impala pulled into the parking lot of Jay's, Sam glanced around for Amber.

There were lots of kids he recognized from school sitting at the tables on the patio, drinking sodas and eating burgers.

"Do you see her?" Dean asked, likewise glancing at the highschoolers even though he had never seen the girl before.

"There," Sam said, "She's wearing that purple tank-top."

Dean looked where Sam indicated and grinned.

"What to go, Sammy!" he almost shouted, "She's gorgeous."

And she was. Tall and lithe with an olive complexion, black curly hair that went down to her waist and chocolate brown eyes, Amber was probably one of the most beautiful girls at the school. And the most popular.

As a cheerleader she ran with the 'cool kids' and usually wouldn't have anything to do with someone like Sam. But Amber was conveniently available. She had had a fight with her stupid jock boyfriend a week ago and they hadn't been hanging out since.

Unlike the other popular kids who'd instantly targeted Sam as fair game, Amber hadn't joined in their cruel fun. She'd hang back, a frown on her face while the other kids laughed. Once she'd even left to get a teacher for help.

Dean didn't know any of this. Sam hadn't told him. If his brother knew, Sam was sure Dean wouldn't want him going on a date with Amber.

Amber was different from all those other jerks. She was actually really nice.

"I should go before she starts thinking I'm not coming," Sam told his brother and Dean nodded, grinning idiotically.

Sam opened the passenger door and Dean leaned over, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Sam rolled his eyes, embarrassed when a couple of kids sitting nearby turned to look at him, and slammed the door shut. He felt relieved when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala grow faint as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.

"Amber!" Sam called, trotting over to her.

She looked up and smiled and Sam felt like the luckiest kid in town.

W

Amber chuckled and took a sip of her vanilla milkshake.

"You're really funny, Sam," she told him and the teen glanced down at his food so the cheerleader wouldn't see him blush.

"Thanks for your help with Chemistry," Amber said, "I just don't get all those equations and elements, its so confusing."

Sam nodded, "You're welcome."

"I was so sure Ferguson was going to fail me," the cheerleader continued, "But to see her face when I passed that test! Priceless! I wish I had taken a picture!"

Sam smiled. He actually liked Mrs. Ferguson but she had no tolerance for students who took her class and didn't understand the concepts. It wasn't like they had a choice though, they had to take grade 9 and 10 Chemistry, Biology and Physics. Once they entered grades 11 and 12, they could choose which course to take based on the credits they needed for college.

"Uh… Amber," Sam said somewhat awkwardly, "Do you want to go to a movie maybe? After we're finished eating, I mean?"

"Dinner and a movie? Wow, I am getting a treat!" She exclaimed and Sam grinned, "So that's a yes?"

"Definitely," the girl said.

The conversation then turned to what movies the teens preferred. Sam was surprised to find that Amber enjoyed action movies.

"I have three older brothers so I didn't get much choice with what we watched on TV when I was younger," Amber explained.

Sam chuckled, "I know how that feels."

"You have an older brother, yeah?" Amber asked, "He's the one who drives that sick old car."

Sam nodded, "That's Dean."

"Is it just the two of you or what?" Amber asked and took a bite of her Chicken Club wrap.

Sam shook his head, "Our Dad's with us but he does a lot of stuff out of town."

The cheerleader nodded, "That's cool. My parents aren't around often either. They're actually on a cruise right now in Aruba. They never even asked me if I wanted to go; it's so unfair."

Sam smiled but he couldn't really empathize with the cheerleader's plight. There were worse things in life than not going on a luxury ship to a tropical paradise.

Like not having enough money for food, or being terrified that your father might not come back once he walked out the door, or fighting creatures that by all rational explanations had no right to be alive.

"Oh! I'm sorry," Amber apologized suddenly, "I didn't meant to upset you."

Sam frowned at the girl, "Huh?"

"Me and my big mouth," she continued, "I always say stuff like that with my friends and just kind of forgot that you're… different then them."

You forgot that I'm pretty much poor, Sam thought and quickly took a drink of his Coke.

"You're really nice, Sam," Amber said, "I'm glad I met you."

The boy smiled genuinely, "You too."

W

"The movie's starting in ten minutes!" Amber announced as she glanced at the time on her cell phone.

She and Sam were standing on the sidewalk in front of Jay's, the two of them earning curious glances from their classmates.

How on Earth had the weird new kid managed to hook up with Amber DeLorretti?

"Will we be able to make it in time?" Sam asked, "Or is there another movie we could see?"

Amber looked up and smiled, taking his hand in hers, "We'll make it. If we use a shortcut."

Sam followed the cheerleader across the parking lot and down the street. It was growing late in the evening and the sky was ablaze with the oranges and pinks of the setting sun.

"C'mon," Amber said and abruptly pulled Sam into an empty field, overgrown with goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace.

"The theatre is just on the other side and down the street a bit," Amber explained, keeping a tight grip on Sam's wrist.

The foliage in the field was waist-high on the cheerleader and even higher on Sam who shorter than the girl; when would he ever grow taller?

Despite being athletic, Amber was breathing heavily and she came to a halt, releasing Sam's hand and brushed her hair away from her shoulders.

The field was large and now the teens couldn't even hear the growl of cars that passed by on the streets on either side.

Amber tugged at her hair, nervously pulling the long dark strands into a ponytail and holding them together with a pink scrunchy.

"We should keep going," Sam suggested, "Or we'll be late."

Amber smiled but didn't say anything. Instead she gazed out across the field as though she were looking for something.

"Amber?" Sam called her name and the cheerleader looked at him.

"I had a lot of fun tonight, Sam," she said somewhat sadly and the boy looked around, his heart beating faster when he caught sight of a large, broad-shouldered figure making its way towards them.

Sam heard footsteps all around them and turned to see the four more figures walking through the weeds. He and Amber were surrounded. He couldn't see who was approaching them; the sun was behind the figures, casting them in shadows.

"Amber, we should leave," Sam suggested and reached out for the girl's hand.

This wasn't looking too good and he needed to protect the cheerleader.

Amber stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around her chest, "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam frowned, "What's going on?"

"You actually did it, Babe!" a familiar voice called out and Sam turned to see the captain of the football team, Trey Martin, standing only a few feet away. The other figures now came into view to reveal themselves as Trey's goony friends.

Amber walked over to the jock and he wrapped a beefy arm around her waist, bending down to kiss her.

Sam stared in shock.

But, they'd had a fight! A big one in the cafeteria so everyone could see. It had been pretty serious too.

"You broke up!" Sam exclaimed, eyeing the couple.

"What? You didn't know Amber was in the Drama Club? She's pretty good too, wouldn't you say so?" Trey asked Sam and grinned.

Sam shook his head and looked at the cheerleader.

"I thought you liked me," he said and Amber frowned but said nothing.

Trey laughed, "Why would she ever like a freak like you, Winchester?!"

Sam took a step back but found the football players surrounding him. He was trapped.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, "I haven't done anything to you."

Trey smirked, "Because you need to be taught that they shouldn't ley freaks like you into school."

One of the other boys nodded, "We thought you'd get the hint by now to get out but you just kept crawling back."

"And now you need to be taught a lesson you won't forget," Trey added, "And this time there's no teachers around to save you."

SPN

Dean wondered how Sam's date was going.

He was so proud of the kid. And impressed too. Bagging himself a cheerleader on the first try.

Dean smirked; he guessed he was rubbing off on his baby brother.

He wanted to call Sam to ask how it was going but he knew that his sibling would be terribly embarrassed if he did.

Nah, he could wait, and press Sam for details when he picked him up.

SPN

Sam was prepared to fight despite being out numbered. He wasn't just going to let Trey and his idiot friends beat him up.

Besides, Sam had gone up against things a lot scarier than a high school football player.

Sam easily sidestepped Trey as the burly footballer charged at him but was grabbed from behind instead by one of the jock's friends. The other boy grabbed Sam's arms and pulled them behind his back roughly.

Sam kicked out with his foot and caught the bigger boy between the legs. It was a low move, something he'd never do while sparring with Dean, but it got the football player to let him go.

The young hunter glanced around, trying to find an opening in which to escape. There wasn't one. The broad-shouldered jocks circled him completely.

"You're dead, Winchester!" Trey snarled, angry that his friend had been hurt and charged at Sam again.

Sam had nowhere to run.

Sam crouched down so he would be less of a target and waited.

Trey, unable to stop his momentum, hit the smaller boy and went flying. He crashed to the ground with a cry of anger.

Sam stood up, uninjured and once again searched for an opening, hoping that Trey's friends who go to help him.

There!

Sam hurried towards the gap between two of the football players.

SPN

Amber watched anxiously as Trey and his friends surrounded Sam.

She kind of felt bad for the kid; he had helped her with Chemistry.

But Trey was right. Sam Winchester was a freak and shouldn't be in their school. Trey had convinced Amber to pretend to like the boy, go out on a date with him and lead the hapless sixteen-year old to a secluded area so the jock and his buddies could 'scare' him.

The kid was fast though. He managed to dodge Trey twice and kick Adrian in the nuts.

Without really thinking about it, Amber rummaged in her purse and pulled out the stun gun her father had given her in the ninth grade. Although she had never used the tiny weapon concealed in a lipstick tube, Amber knew how it worked.

As Sam slipped between the two football players, Amber darted forward with the gun- her cheerleading skills working to her advantage- and touched the weapon to Sam's side.

The reaction was instantaneous. The kid dropped like a stone, twitching uncontrollably.

Amber stared in shock for a moment but then was pushed out of the way as Trey and his friends converged on the helpless boy.

"That was fucking awesome, Amber!" Brian congratulated, laughing.

Seconds later Sam's convulsions grew still and he blinked slowly, clearly dazed.

Trey bent down and grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him up roughly. Brian took hold of the kid's other arm to help hold him up. Adrian approached their victim, smiling.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he smirked and exacted his revenge by kicking Sam in the groin.

The pain drove away the lingering effects of the stun gun and the smaller boy gasped, crying out in pain and doubled over as much as he could.

"I think he'd gonna hurl," Brian announced.

With his free hand Trey grabbed Sam's hair and yanked his head up. Sam's face was pale and his eyes were red-rimmed.

"Fucking faggot," Trey commented and released his hold on Sam's hair.

The jock reared his arm back and punched Sam in the gut; this time the boy did puke, vomit spewing out of his mouth.

The football players standing in front of Sam jumped back whooping and hollering.

"Trey, that's enough!" Amber called, trying to push past her boyfriend's teammates but they were blocking her.

Adrian grabbed Sam's arm from Trey and the football captain stepped in front of the smaller boy, careful to avoid the sick on the grass.

Trey punched Sam again, his meaty fist breaking the young hunter's nose with a sickening crack.

"Trey! Stop it!" Amber shouted and tried to shove her way between the football players.

This was starting to get out of control.

A punch to Sam's jaw snapped his head back and when he recovered Amber was alarmed to see blood dripping from his mouth.

"You're going to kill him!" Amber shrieked but she remained ignored.

Brian and Adrian released their hold on Sam and he fell onto the grass, landing in the puddle of his own throw up.

Amber was pushed back as the football players attacked the boy all at once, kicking and stomping like a herd of enraged bulls.

"Get off him!" Amber screamed, "You're killing him!"

She grabbed at Trey's shirt with one hand and pounded her fist against it his back with the other.

This was not 'scaring' the kid. This was starting to look like murder.

"GET OFF HIM!" Amber screamed again and Trey turned around, grabbing her arms and pulling them down to her sides.

Some sense of reason must have entered his brain at the moment because he looked over his shoulder at his friends.

"Quit it," he ordered, "That's enough. He's learned his lesson."

Amber pulled herself from Trey's grasp as his friends stepped away from their victim and she crouched down in the grass next to the injured boy.

With a shaky hand, Amber reached out and touched Sam's neck, feeling a weak pulse.

"You're lucky he's still alive," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

Sure the kid was weird and poor but he didn't deserve this.

"We should call an ambulance," she said and began digging in her purse for her cell phone.

Trey grabbed her under the shoulder and pulled her up, "We can't, Babe. We've gotta go. If anyone finds out we did this… we'll get kicked off the team."

"We can't just leave him here like this!" Amber exclaimed, if they did, Sam really could die.

"He'll be okay, Babe," Trey assured her, "Someone will find him. People cut through this field all the time."

Amber didn't look convinced and tried to pull free of Trey to return to Sam's side.

"What do you think your parents would say if they found out about this?" Trey asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Amber frowned, "I'd be grounded for life."

Trey nodded, "Exactly. Look, the kid's still alive. Someone else will find him and take him to the doctor's or whatever. But we can't be seen here."

"Trey?" Patrick, another member of the football team asked, "What if he wakes up and remembers it was us?"

The burly captain thought for a minute before letting go of Amber's arm.

The cheerleader watched as her boyfriend approached the boy and peered down at him.

"Trey, leave him alone," she said but he ignored her.

Instead, the beefy athlete raised a foot and brought it down on Sam's head.

Amber screamed and Brian grabbed her, putting a thick hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God!" the cheerleader shrieked, "Oh my God! Why would you do that?!"

Trey grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

"Shut up," he hissed at the cheerleader.

"Let go of me!" Amber snarled and pulled away from Trey.

"Babe!" Trey called as she began walking away, his buddies following him like a loyal pack of wolves following their alpha.

"How could you do that? You said you were just going to scare him!" Amber said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Trey scoffed, "Don't tell me you actually feel bad for that weirdo."

Amber stopped and turned on him, "I've put up with a lot of your shit, Trey, but this is it. I am breaking up with you! Get away from me! Don't you ever talk to me again!"

With that, the cheerleader turned away and began to stalk through the lot. She could hear Trey running after her and cried out when he grabbed her waist and turned her around to face him.

"Get off me! Don't touch me!" she snapped and shoved Trey in the chest.

"We're in this together, Babe," the athlete reminded her, "If you go to the police or anything you'll be just as guilty as me."

Amber, her chest heaving, frowned. He was right.

"We may as well stick together until this blows over," Trey said, "So no one will be suspicious."

Amber didn't reply for a long moment before nodding. Although she hated to look at Trey, he knew what the consequences were if they were found out. And Amber could not go to jail.

"Fine," She snapped and pulled away from her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

"But only until this goes away."

SPN

Dean frowned and glanced at his watch.

When was Sam going to call him?

It was dark out now and Dean couldn't help but be a little worried.

His brother must be having a really good time if he was staying out this late.

Dean smiled, glad that his brother was getting a chance to do the things normal kids did.

Sitting against the headboard of his bed, Dean settled in for another hour or so of television, certain that his brother would call soon.

SPN

Carol McGuire laughed as her husband, Matt told her about the antics of his co-worker, Ron.

"I can't believe he did that!" Carol chuckled and glanced over at the empty field their dog, Boots, had just run into.

"Guess Boots wants to take a short-cut," Matt said and stepped off the sidewalk.

The animal began barking loudly and Matt sighed.

"Boots! Hey, come here girl!" he called for the dog.

"Maybe she smells something," Carol offered, "I hope it's not a dead squirrel again."

"It's probably nothing," Matt assured his wife, "She probably just wants to pee where every other dog has gone before her."

The husband really didn't want to head home just yet; there was a stack of tenth-grade English essays waiting to be marked. The teacher cringed; no one liked his class. The kids these days didn't understand Shakespeare and hated poetry.

Matt smiled, everyone except Sam Winchester that was.

Although the teen had only been in Matt's class for a couple of weeks, the man had a feeling that kid was going places.

Matt thought that he would grade Sam's essay first; it would be the best anyway.

"Boots! Come on girl!" Carol called and left Matt, trying to find their little Jack Russell.

Matt lost sight of his wife as the woman moved further into the field, calling for the animal.

Suddenly a horrified scream filled the air and Matt ran towards the sound, terrified that his wife had been hurt somehow.

"Carol! What's wrong? Are you alright?!" Matt found his wife standing over something lying in the grass.

Boots was sniffing at whatever it was, and whining.

"It's a boy!" Carol announced; her tone frightened.

"What?" Matt asked and stepped closer.

"Oh shit," he swore and grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket, punching in the number for the police.

As Matt spoke to a dispatcher, Carol bent down close to the boy and reached out.

"Care! Don't move him!" Matt told her and his wife looked up at him with wet eyes.

"I can't tell if he's breathing or not," she said quietly and grabbed Boots- startling the small dog- and holding the terrier beneath her arm.

Matt shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped up beside his wife. It was almost dark now and difficult to see but Matt felt like he knew the boy from somewhere.

Which was impossible to tell for certain since the teen was covered in blood and dirt.

Matt leaned forward with one hand out.

"I thought we weren't supposed to move him," Carol said, wide-eyed, "Oh the poor thing."

"I'm just checking for a pulse," Matt told her and laid two fingers against the boy's neck, brushing his longish hair out of the way.

Matt frowned; very few high school-aged boys wore their hair this long.

Come to think of it, Matt knew of only one whose hair was longer… Sam Winchester.

"Oh Jesus," he muttered and snatched his hand away.

"What? What is it? Is he dead?" Carol asked fearfully and Matt shook his head, "I know him."

SPN

Dean jumped when his phone rang, trilling out the chords to 'Smoke on the Water'. Glancing at the Caller ID he smiled; Sam was ready to be picked up.

Putting the phone to his ear, Dean spoke before his little brother could, "About time you called, Sammy, I was starting to think you'd gone and eloped with that girl."

There was a short pause on the other end and the person who spoke next was definitely not Sam.

"Am I speaking to Dean… Winchester?" an older female voice asked and Dean's heart stopped in his chest.

"Yes," he answered, "Can I ask who is you are and why you have my brother's phone?"

"I'm Myrna Brown, a nurse at Orville Memorial Hospital," the woman said, "Your brother was admitted here earlier this evening."

Dean sucked in a deep breath, "Admitted? By who? Is he alright? What happened? Why are you calling me and not him?"

"I can help answer all of your questions, Mr. Winchester but I need you to come to the hospital first," Myrna told him, "Dr. Powell with want to speak with you as well."

Dean was out the door of the motel room and in the Impala in less than five minutes.

W

Dean parked the Impala and pulled the key from the ignition, slamming the door shut as he hurried towards the Emergency doors of the hospital.

The glass doors slid open as Dean approached and he made a beeline for the Nurse's Station. The young woman at the desk glanced up and frowned, "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm here to see Sam Winchester," Dean explained, "I'm his brother, Dean. I got a call from a nurse named…. Brown, Myrna Brown."

The nurse nodded and picked up the phone at the desk, "I'll page her right away. Would you like to take a seat?"

Dean shook his head and remained where he was. During the drive he'd decided that something very bad must have happened to his sibling if a nurse had to call him- and was reluctant to disclose any information over the phone.

The young nurse set the phone back in its cradle, "Nurse Brown will be out in a moment. Please, take a seat."

Dean walked over to the orange plastic chairs set aside for patients and their families and sat down on the edge of one, clearly agitated to the other unfortunate visitors.

A middle-aged nurse with tightly curled, greying hair stepped into the waiting room.

"Dean Winchester?" she said and the twenty-year old stood up instantly.

"How's Sammy? What happened?" he asked as he approached the woman.

The nurse held out a pudgy, gentle hand and touched Dean's arm, "Come with me, please."

Dean followed, his fear for his brother growing by the second.

"Please Ma'am," he said as the woman led him down a long corridor, "Just tell me if my brother's alright."

Myrna glanced up at the tall young man and said nothing, her expression sad.

Dean frowned when he was led into an empty exam room- well; almost empty- a man in a doctor's white lab coat was standing facing the door. The doctor was broad-shouldered, with blue eyes and short blond hair. He looked more like a football player than a physician.

"Dean Winchester? I'm Dr. Powell," he held out his hand.

Dean shook the man's hand quickly, "Can you please tell me what's happened to Sam?"

Dr. Powell nodded, "Would you like to have a seat?"

Dean was going to refuse but something in the man's tone told him he really should be sitting down for this.

He pulled the swivel chair out from the desk and sat.

"Your brother is alive," Dr. Powell began but Dean didn't feel any relief at the statement, a comment like that really meant 'it's a Goddamn miracle he's still breathing.'

"Your brother was found in the empty field on McCarthy Avenue," the doctor continued, "With signs of severe physical trauma."

Dean's blood ran cold, "How severe?"

Dr. Powell pursed his lips, clearly not wanting to upset his patient's brother further than he already was.

"Just tell me, Doc," Dean pressed.

The man sighed sadly, "Your brother has a bruised liver, a bruised spleen, bruised kidneys, fractured ribs, a broken arm, a broken nose, chipped teeth, a black eye-"

Dean was seeing red. His hands curled into fists at the doctor's words. If he didn't know any better, it sounded like someone had beaten the shit out of his brother.

"Mr. Winchester? Are you alright? Perhaps you should take a moment to rest," Dr. Powell suggested but Dean shook his head.

"No, not yet," he growled, "What else? There is more, isn't there?"

From the look on the doctor's face there was more to come, and it was worse than everything else.

Myrna Brown moved across the room and took hold of Dean's fist, holding it in her own warm hand, trying to comfort the young man.

"Sam suffered from a trauma to his head," Dr. Powell said slowly, quietly, "He had bleeding in his brain."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

This couldn't be happening. No, this was all a terrible nightmare.

"Dean? Do you need a second?" Myrna asked but Dean shook his head.

He opened his eyes and looked at the doctor, "Is he going to be okay?"

"We had to preform emergency surgery to relieve the pressure on your brother's brain and allow the blood to drain out," the doctor explained, "But truthfully, we won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up and I can tell you that there most certainly will be damage."

Dean felt tears well up in his eyes.

God, why was this happening?

Just hours ago Sam had been a regular sixteen-year old boy taking a girl he liked out on a date and now… what would he be like when he woke up? If he woke up.

"I… I… I've gotta call my Dad," Dean said, "He's got to know."

Myrna nodded, "Would you like me to do that for you?"

Dean thought for a moment and nodded, "Yeah… okay, thanks. His name's John."

The nurse smiled kindly and left the room after writing the father's phone number down on a notepad from the desk.

Dean sighed and looked at the doctor.

"Was there a girl too?" he asked and the man looked confused for a moment before shaking his head.

"Dean, I have to call the police in," Dr. Powell said, "It is clear someone intended to harm your brother."

Dean nodded dazedly. He didn't even care right now if the police came or not.

Who would do something like this to his baby brother? Who had Sam pissed off so badly that they would beat him within an inch of his life?

Sam hadn't said anything about getting picked on since they'd arrived in town so what the hell had happened?

Dean didn't know who or what had hurt his brother but he did know something for certain, someone was going to die.

Myrna came back into the room, "Your father's on his way."

"Can I see Sammy?" he asked.

Dr. Powell nodded and Dean stood. He followed the physician down the hallway and to an elevator.

"Your brother's appearance my be a bit startling-" the doctor began as they stepped into the lift.

"Save it, Doc," Dean interrupted.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

When the elevator doors opened Dean saw that they were on the ICU floor.

The area was quiet; there were not many patients here.

Dr. Powell greeted the nurse on duty and led Dean into the room where Sam lay.

Dean stopped in the doorway and stared. He wasn't expecting this.

Sam's face was purple and blue with bruises, he had a tube in his mouth connected to a machine that was helping him breathe, his broken arm lay atop the blankets in a clean white cast, three different IVs ran from his uninjured arm to their stand and a heart monitor beeped rhythmically beside his bed. Sam's head was covered in bandages so that he looked like he was wearing a bulky, white hat.

Taking in the sight of his baby brother, Dean felt tears well up in his eyes and he stumbled forward, grabbing the chair set aside for visitors and fell into it.

"Sammy," he whispered, "What did they do to you?"

Reaching out cautiously, he touched his brother's hand, wanting nothing more than for his sibling's fingers to close around his.

"If you need anything or if Sam shows signs of waking, please don't hesitate to get the nurse on duty," Dr. Powell said and Dean nodded distractedly.

"Who was it Sammy?" Dean whispered, leaning in close to his brother, "Who did this to you?"

Sam remained unconscious. Only the beep-beep-beep and the swish-swoosh of the heart monitor and breathing machine answered him.

SPN

Amber stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She couldn't get the sight of Sam lying on the ground, bloody and unmoving.

She never should have agreed to help Trey with his stupid prank. She should have known it'd go too far.

Amber sat down on her bed and grabbed her teddy bear, staring at the stuffed toy for a long moment.

If she hadn't used the short cut, Sam might be okay now. Trey and his buddies had been laying in wait for them in the field; Amber had been trying to figure out a reason for them to go through it before Sam had asked her to the movies.

She could have prevented the boy from getting hurt. She could have gone to the theaters the long way or said she didn't want to see a movie at all.

Sam would be home now and not…

Oh God, what if he was dead?

Had she helped kill him?

Amber closed her eyes as they welled with tears. The not knowing was killing her. She didn't think she could wait for school to hear if anybody would talk about the attack.

"Screw Trey," the cheerleader said and tossed the bear back onto her bed.

If Sam was still alive, he'd be at Orville Memorial.

And that's where Amber was going.

SPN

Dean looked up, his eyes red-rimmed when John stepped into the room.

"Sam," the older man said and stepped up to the bed, his face haggard.

John reached out and laid a calloused hand against Sam's brow, careful of the bruises.

"Did Dr. Powell talk to you?" Dean asked quietly and John nodded.

"What happened, Dean?" John asked, looking to his eldest for an explanation.

Dean sighed, "Sammy was on a date… can you believe it? He was going to have dinner and see a movie with this girl from school… I don't know how far he got before… whoever did this attacked him…"

A gasp caught the attention of both father and son and Dean and John turned to find a young woman standing in the doorway.

"You," Dean said and stood but the girl took a step back, "Do you know who did this? Did you see what happened?"

The cheerleader though turned and fled down the hallway.

John looked at his eldest, "Who the hell was that?"

"Sam's date," Dean told him. He wanted to go after the girl but wouldn't leave his brother.

John apparently had the same idea and left the room, stalking down the corridor after the teenager.

SPN

Amber paused, a hand pressed against her chest as tears leaked from her eyes.

That looked really bad.

Why did Trey have to be such a fucking asshole?

"Miss? Hey, Miss!"

Amber looked up when a man- Sam's father no doubt- approached her.

He was tall and broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair and dark brown eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Amber's eyes widened; he was asking her if she was okay?

"Uh… yeah," she muttered and wiped her face, "It's just… Is he going to be okay?"

Sam's father frowned, "We don't know. The doctor said that there was bleeding in Sam's brain and that it would cause… damage."

The blood drained from Amber's face and her heartbeat sped up.

"What does that mean?" she asked anxiously.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He could slip into a coma," he told her.

"Will he remember who hurt him?" Amber asked.

John shook his head, "Dr. Powell said that it was unlikely. If you know anything, Miss, please tell us. The police already spoke to Dean but he doesn't know what happened. You were the last one with Sam… what happened?"

Amber's heart began to jackhammer in her chest. If she told him the truth she would go to jail for a long time.

"I... I don't know," she lied and tears of fear began to leak down her face, "We had dinner at Jay's and then Sam said he wanted to go see a movie. I d-didn't really want to so I left. I didn't see him again after that."

John sighed and nodded.

He turned and walked back down the hallway.

Amber stared after him.

Dear God what had she just done?

SPN

Two days passed slowly and still Sam remained asleep.

Dr. Powell told the Winchesters that the longer Sam remained unconscious, the less likely it was that he would awake.

Dean refused to leave his brother's side. He refused to eat and sleep until Sam opened his eyes.

John, much like his eldest, became a fixture in Sam's room.

The older brother looked up tiredly on the third day when the two police officers who had spoken to him the first night returned.

"Mr. Winchester," the older of the two cops- an officer Baxter- approached John, "We've found the people responsible for the attack on your son."

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Who was it?" John asked, his face going red with fury.

"According to eyewitness reports," office Baxter said, "Your son was seen walking into the empty field where he was attacked with Amber DeLorretti-"

Dean frowned. That little cheerleader had beaten the shit out of his brother? Impossible, unless she had been possessed, which was always a something to keep in mind.

"An hour previously," the officer continued, "Certain members of the Grover Cleveland High School football team were seen entering the field."

A whole football team could certainly hurt his brother. Sam was a good fighter but not against that many burly jocks all at once.

"The DeLorretti girl confessed to conspiring with the football team to 'scare' your son into leaving the school," the officer told them, "According to her, it went too far."

"Would you like to come down to the station with us? Or…" the younger cop asked and John nodded.

"I'll go," he answered tightly, "Dean, are you alright here?"

Dean nodded. As much as he would have liked to confront Sam's attackers he wanted to stay with his brother.

W

Dean jumped in his seat when he felt a small movement against his fingers.

He had been holding Sam's hand for a while but there had been no indication that his brother was waking.

Now, Dean leaned forward and gently squeezed his brother's fingers.

And Sam squeezed back.

"Sammy," Dean said and tears filled his eyes.

He reached for the call button beside the bed to summon the nurse on duty and murmured softly to his brother.

"Sammy, I'm right here," Dean whispered, "It's okay, Sam."

The nurse stepped in the doorway.

Dean turned to her and couldn't help but grin, "Sammy's waking up."

She nodded, "I'll go get Dr. Powell."

Dean turned his attention back to his sibling.

W

The doctor insisted on running tests on Sam to gauge the amount of damage his brain had sustained.

Dean hadn't wanted his brother out of his sight but he knew the tests were necessary. Not only would they determine what the Winchesters lives would look like in the very near future but also if he was capable, he could stand trial against the bastards who had hurt him so badly.

John returned to the hospital, looking like he wanted to rip someone's head off.

The evidence the police had was somewhat circumstantial; a statement from Sam would seal the deal and send every one of those fuckers to jail for a long time.

Unfortunately, according to the tests Dr. Powell had run, Sam was in no fit state to stand trial against anyone. The beating had caused irreparable damage to his brain.

Dean couldn't believe it. After everything those dicks had done to his brother they might not serve jail time.

The police had told them that even without a statement from his brother, the other witness reports and Amber's confession was still pretty solid.

But Dean tried not to worry about that. Sam needed him now.

"Here you go, Sammy," Dean muttered, holding a piece of green Jell-O out on the plastic spoon for his brother.

Sam opened his mouth and ate the morsel. Dean smiled, glad that his brother could eat with minimal assistance but couldn't help but think of when Sam had been a baby and needed to be fed just like this.

Dr. Powell had said that Sam's might heal some of the damage but it was likely that it wouldn't and that Sam would never be as he once was.

John wasn't spending a lot of the time at the hospital, preoccupied with the police and getting some justice for his son.

Dean didn't mind. He didn't really want John to see Sam like this, even though he knew it was inevitable.

Dean sighed, cutting the Jell-O up with the spoon, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry this happened to you."

The sixteen-year old looked at him, patiently waiting for more Jell-O.

The older brother felt tears well up in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away.

"Sorry, Sammy," he apologized and fed his brother another piece of the gelatin dessert.

Sam said nothing. Instead, he reached out with his uninjured hand and rested it against his brother's arm.

Dean glanced down at his arm for a moment before looking up at his brother.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean choked out; tears leaking down his face.

Setting the bowl of Jell-O aside, Dean wrapped his arms carefully around his brother, hugging the younger man.

"We'll get through this, Sammy," Dean murmured, "You and me against the world. Nothing can stop us."


	28. In A Tight Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Leahelisabeth: A monster with paralytic venom catches Sam unaware. Dean realizes that his brother is in trouble and comes to the rescue! Set in any Season.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, the other pressing his cell phone to his ear.

"Well, what did you find at the morgue?" Dean asked curiously.

"All the victims had large amounts of a paralytic toxin in their bloodstream," Sam explained, "But that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. The toxin attacked their muscles. Snake venom has paralyzing properties but it usually affects the respiratory system, killing prey pretty much instantly. Some spiders have venom that paralyzes but it also starts to break down the proteins in the bodies of their prey, kind of liquefying their insides. All the victims were still alive when this thing started eating them, they just couldn't move."

"Huh," Dean muttered, "And their guts weren't goo?"

"No," Sam answered, frustrated, "Have you had any luck?"

"There aren't a whole lot of monsters out there that have venom, you know," Dean replied, sounding exhausted, "Tell me again why you got to go to the morgue and I got stuck with the library."

Sam smirked, "Because you are terrible at Rock Paper Scissors."

"Oh, yeah," Dean answered, "So… from what you've found out, we should be looking out for a giant spider-snake hybrid."

Sam sighed, "Whatever it is, its smart. It knows enough to hide its victims and then dump them around town when its finished eating."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "That's just gross."

Sam glanced around. He was still a few blocks away from the motel and it was dark out. Dean had taken the Impala to the library because he'd claimed it was compensation for losing their draw. Sam didn't really care though, the town was fairly small and walking was good for him.

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," Sam said, "Maybe its not a monster at all."

"What do you mean? Some yahoo is out there paralyzing people and eating them?" Dean asked, sounding disgusted with the very idea.

Sam shrugged, "It's possible."

"I'd much rather it be one of our kind of monsters," Dean told him.

"Me too," Sam agreed, "Listen, I'm a few blocks away, I'll help you research when I get there."

Dean groaned, "I've been looking through boring, dusty books all afternoon."

Sam smiled and ended the call. He frowned. He had no idea what could be killing people in this town; there was nothing in John's journal about a monster paralyzing its victims before eating them. This was something completely new. And it made Sam somewhat uneasy.

Swish-Swish-Swish

Sam paused and looked around. The streetlights cast orange circles of light that unfortunately didn't reach far enough. The hunter listened carefully for a moment, eyes keen for movement but he heard and saw nothing.

He was the only one out. The rest of the street was deserted.

Wary, Sam started walking again, picking up his pace slightly.

Swish-Swish-Swish

The noise was coming from Sam's left side, he was sure of it. But there was nothing there. A row of businesses- closed for the night- loomed in the shadows but nothing else.

Carefully, Sam reached into the pocket of his jacket and set his hand on his gun. Just in case.

The cool metal and familiar shape of the weapon comforted the hunter and he began to relax somewhat.

Swish-Swish-Swish

Sam stopped and looked over to his left. He wasn't just hearing things. Something was definitely there.

He lifted the gun from his pocket and took the safety off. He was standing in front of a barber's shop. Glancing off to either side, Sam saw nothing unusual or unsettling.

SwishSwishSwish

Sam staggered under the weight of the heavy body that fell on him. He lost his grip on his gun and the weapon fell to the pavement with a loud clatter. He tried to cry out but a cold tail wrapped around his middle, choking off any sound. Sam stumbled, crashing into the large picture window of the barber's shop and breaking the glass, setting off the security alarm.

His attacker hissed in his ear, sharp claws digging into his shirt and scratching his back. Sam's legs buckled and he hit the sidewalk, unable to hold the weight of his attacker up anymore.

He gasped at the sharp pain that suddenly blossomed at the back of his neck and the loss of feeling that flowed out from the site.

The venom acted rapidly and within moments Sam was rendered helpless.

Oh shit, Sam thought, Oh fuck. What the hell is that?

The sensation of numbness left his body but when Sam tried to get back to his feet, his limbs refused to respond. He could see his legs and he wanted them to move but they remained still.

Sam's breathing became rapid with panic. His attacker released its hold on him and stepped in front of him so he could see it.

If Sam could have screamed he would have. He had never seen anything like it before in his life. Not faint of heart, Sam was nonetheless shocked by the monster's appearance.

It was tall- taller than him- and had head of a rooster, complete with a sharp black beak, blood red comb and cruel yellow eyes. Its body was long and muscular, acid green with small round scales like that of a snake. It's feet were those of a chicken, yellow and scaly with sharp talons. It had arms with hands that looked rather weak in comparison to the rest of its limbs. A long tail and bat-like wings finished off the mismatched creature.

The monster walked around Sam for a moment as though appraising him before it stopped at his feet. It bent down and snagged his pant leg with its claws and began dragging him.

Sam tried to kick the monster but as before, his limbs remained useless. Sam's free leg bent awkwardly- and painfully- as the creature yanked him away from the sidewalk.

Sam groaned- though no sound escaped- as his shirt and jacket began to ride up and the side of his face scraped against the cement mercilessly.

The monster dragged him into an alleyway, past moldy cardboard boxes and a rusty dumpster. Shards of a broken bottle caught in Sam's shirt as he was pulled carelessly through it and tears sprang to his eyes with pain.

Where are we going? Sam wanted to ask but his tongue lay limp and useless in his mouth.

The alley opened up onto the backyard of an old mansion. Somehow the building had survived the march of progress and remained standing though now it was long abandoned and crumbling with disrepair.

Sam closed his eyes as the dry grass of the lawn poked and scratched his face.

There was a pause and Sam opened his eyes. They widened when he saw a flight of a half-dozen cement steps leading to a wooden door.

Please, Sam begged silently, leave me here. Don't make me go up the stairs.

The monster couldn't hear Sam's thoughts and began pulling him up the stairs, the hunter's head hitting each one with a dull thud.

At the top of the short flight, Sam lost consciousness.

SPN

The cockatrice turned and looked at its victim. Releasing the man's leg, it approached his head, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed him.

Its victim was still alive.

Normally the creature would be able to fly with its victims but this particular man was very large- tall and broad shouldered- and the cockatrice could not manage to become airborne while carrying him.

Luckily the cockatrice's nest was not far. It had seen the man as it was leaving to hunt and decided to take him instead of look for other prey.

The cockatrice shoved its beak into the doorjamb, widening the opening and grabbed its victim's pant leg again.

It crossed the large entryway and headed towards the long staircase that led to the second floor of the manse. The steps were wooden with a moth-eaten carpet runner and the man's head hit every one with a dull thud.

Still, the cockatrice was not yet at its hiding place. It pulled its victim down the hallway into what had once been the master bedroom. An old wooden steamer truck sat open at the end of the mildewy mattress.

The cockatrice laid its victim down in front of the trunk. It tilted its head for a moment. It was sure the man would fit.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly. His head was pounding and his body ached. He looked up and saw the creature staring down at him. His back was pressed against something hard. Sam wanted to see what it was but he couldn't turn.

Suddenly the monster bent down and pulled him into a sitting position. Blood dripped down Sam's side from the cuts caused by the glass bottle in the alley and his face stung horribly from being scraped against the ground.

Sam gasped silently- his mouth wouldn't move- as the monster grabbed him underneath the arms and pulled him up. He was lowered backwards and that horrible feeling of falling engulfed Sam.

His heart was pounding in his chest and he desperately tried to move his limbs to stop his descent but was unable to do so.

Instead of dropping Sam, the monster lowered him into something. It was a box. A coffin?

No, it was shorter and rectangular. The sides were covered in an old papery material that had roses on it. The box smelt strongly of mothballs.

Sam's shoulders pressed against the side of the box snugly, his head tilted forward so that his chin rested on his chest. His legs were sticking straight out in front of him and he guessed he would have looked comical if he hadn't been so scared.

The monster grabbed one of Sam's legs and bent it at the knee so that his leg lay against his abdomen, a very uncomfortable position. The other leg was arranged the same way as the first. Sam's arms were shoved down at his sides unceremoniously.

Sam stared up at his attacker; already his neck was protesting the awkward position it was in. The monster reached over and lifted the box's lid.

No! Sam cried out silently, please don't! Don't close me in here!

The monster though, paid no heed to Sam's quiet pleas and closed the lid, pushing down on it when it didn't quite close all the way.

Sam closed his eyes at the pressure on his head as the monster forced the lid closed. The scent of mothballs was cloying and his stomach began to roil with nausea.

Sam opened his eyes and only saw darkness. His heart began to jackhammer and sweat beaded on his brow.

Let me out! Please! Let me go! Oh God, its too dark!

Sam's breath came out fast and shallow, panicked.

He hated dark, confined spaces ever since…

No, don't think about it! Sam told himself, not now. That's only going to make things worse.

Dean! DEAN! Where are you? Please help me! Sam cried out silently, knowing there was no way his brother could hear him.

Tears of fear welled up in Sam's eyes and began to drip unchecked down his face.

SPN

Dean might as well get some more research done while he waited for Sam.

Maybe he'd get lucky and find their monster.

W

Twenty unsuccessful minutes passed before Dean noticed the time and frowned.

Sam should have arrived by now. He wasn't that far from the motel room.

What the hell was taking him so long?

Sighing, Dean grabbed his cell phone from where it sat beside him on the table and punched Sam's number in.

SPN

Sam startled as he felt his cell phone vibrate against his side.

Was that Dean? It had to be.

He listened as his voicemail came on telling the caller that although he wasn't here at the moment they could leave a message and he'd get back to them as soon as possible.

"Sam? Where are you, man? Did you get lost?" Dean's voice asked, muffled but definitely his.

Sam tried to speak, tried to force his tongue to move but it remained as still as a dead thing in his mouth.

"Are you okay? Listen, if I don't see you in five minutes I'm coming to get you, wherever you are."

Yes! Yes! Please come get me Dean! Sam begged but then he realized that his brother would have no idea where he was.

The mansion! Dean! I'm in the old mansion! Sam cried silently as real tears trickled down his face.

SPN

Dean hung up his phone and sighed. He didn't like this. Not at all.

Sam was a magnet for trouble and with a mysterious monster on the loose there seemed to be only one reason why the younger man had not yet returned to the motel room.

"Aw shit," Dean muttered and stood.

He went to his duffel and grabbed his gun and a knife, shoving both into the pocket of his jacket before heading out to the Impala.

The classic Chevy roared to life and Dean pulled out of the parking lot, not even sure where he should start looking.

SPN

Sam closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

When was the monster coming back? Sam wondered. Its previous victims had only been missing for twenty-four hours before being found again. Dead.

He wondered when it would start to get hungry and come back and-

Sam forced the thought away before it could form fully. That wasn't helping.

Dean would realize he was missing- if he hadn't already- and come find him. He'd tear the town apart to find him.

Sam just had to be patient.

But his neck was aching so badly and now his legs had started to make their presence known as they protested their position.

If he could feel pain, could he move?

Sam tried to wiggle his fingers and was disappointed to find that nothing happened. Despite not being able to see in the dark box, he could still feel that odd- and horrifying- sense of loss about his limbs.

This must be what an amputee feels, Sam mused morbidly.

SPN

Dean had a vague idea of where his brother could be. There was a main road that led to the morgue so he decided to check that out first, knowing Sam would likely not take any shortcuts unless necessary.

He inched the Impala forward at a crawl, trying to see both sides of the road at the same time for any sign of his brother.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean muttered, "Where the hell are you?"

He was passing a closed barber's shop when a glint of metal caught his eye. Dean stopped the Impala and leaned over in his seat to try and see better in the darkness.

A gun!

Dean got out of the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Yes, it was a handgun. A very familiar one.

Dean pocketed the weapon and looked around.

"Sam!" he called, "Sammy!"

It was then that he saw the broken window. If there had been an alarm, it had stopped now.

Dean glanced to the side and saw an alleyway between the barber's and a pita place.

Somehow- call it a big brother's instinct- told Dean to go investigate.

He stepped forward and peered down the alleyway. There seemed to be nothing there, just some old boxes and a dumpster he could smell from where he was standing.

Dean squinted, wishing he had brought a flashlight.

His feet carried him forward and he stepped into the alley, eyes on the ground.

He saw broken glass, some pieces coated with a dark liquid.

Crouching down, Dean carefully picked up a shard and brought it close to his face. In the faint glow from the streetlight at the end of the alley he could almost see a red tint to the liquid on the glass. Reaching out, Dean touched the piece with his finger, the digit coming away wet with the slightly sticky substance.

It sure as hell looked like blood.

Dropping the shard, Dean glanced around. Sam wasn't in the alley. Standing, the older sibling continued, his heart now beating faster.

At the end of the alleyway Dean saw an expanse of dry grass that stood in front of a large old house. Dean stared at the mansion for a long moment and knew that Sam was somewhere inside.

Running across the yard, Dean hoped that whatever had his brother hadn't already started eating.

He'd seen the crime scene photos and Dean was pretty sure those poor bastards were still alive when the monster had started chowing down.

Dean stepped up the cement stairs, frowning when he saw blood trailing all the way to the doors and further.

SPN

Sam closed his eyes and held his breath as he tried once again to move. Even if it was his fingers or toes that was a start.

Besides, it kept his mind off other things.

Like his aching body. Or the memories of…

Wait! Yes! YES!

Sam's pinkie finger twitched!

It wasn't much at all but he could have shouted with joy. Concentrating once again, Sam continued working on getting his abused limbs under his command.

SPN

Sam's trail wasn't hard to follow at all. All Dean had to do was follow the blood.

Although it made Dean sick to his stomach to think of his brother hurt, he was glad that he had something to follow at all.

Despite the lack of light inside the manse, the moon was full and it sent silver rays through the windows, illuminating the floor in an eerie glow.

Dean crept up the wooden stairs, his gun held out before him.

He might not know what kind of monster they were up against but he was not going to be unprepared.

He turned down the hallway and continued onwards, ears keen for the sound of movement.

"Sam," he whispered, "Sammy."

SPN

Footsteps!

There were footsteps! And they were coming closer!

Dean!

Sam's heart leaped in his chest happily.

Dean was here!

Sam listened for a moment and frowned.

What if it wasn't Dean?

What if it was the monster?

No, Sam thought, please… be Dean… please be Dean…

"SAMMY!"

The shout scared the young man but he couldn't have been gladder to hear that shouted voice.

It was Dean.

Here! Sam called silently, in the box!

He heard footsteps approach and Dean muttered something that sounded like 'what the fuck?' before the lid was lifted up.

Sam peered up at his brother; Dean's mouth opened in shock.

SPN

It took a moment for Dean's brain to comprehend the fact that Sam had been stuffed in some old steamer trunk.

His limbs were folded at what looked like extremely uncomfortable angles and for a split second Dean was sure he was dead.

But then he'd seen those familiar green eyes move- the only thing that did- and he knew that Sam was alive.

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered, thinking back to when-

No, not now. Get Sam the hell out of here.

Dean reached in and carefully pulled Sam's arms up.

The limbs moved easily enough, remaining where Dean released them, almost as though Sam was suffering from catatonia.

Gripping his brother's elbows, Dean eased Sam up as gently as possible.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered as fresh tears welled up in Sam's eyes.

He managed to get Sam into a sitting position but he still had to get him out of the trunk.

Swish-Swish-Swish

Dean turned around at the unusual sound.

He jumped when he felt a jerky movement against his arm and saw Sam's pinkie finger move.

Well that's good to know, Dean thought gratefully, this stuff wears off.

It had been a fear in the back of his head that the paralyzing venom was permanent.

Dean looked into his brother's eyes and saw the pupils dilated with fear.

"What is this thing, Sammy?" Dean whispered but received no answer.

Swish-Swish-Swish

It was coming closer.

Dean stepped away from his brother- reluctantly- and held his gun out, ready to shoot at any sign of movement.

SwishSwishSwish

Dean shot an iron round at the shape that suddenly filled the doorframe and he heard an unearthly screech.

Following the sound, Dean shot the monster again, causing it to back up down the hallway.

"That's right, bitch!" Dean snarled, "You stay the fuck away from my brother!"

Dean shot the creature a third time and it toppled over the banister to land on the first floor with a resounding crack.

Peering over the railing, Dean saw the monster sprawled on the marble floor, a pool of blood forming around its head.

Dean left the creature and rushed down the hallway back to his brother.

Sam was still in the same position as when Dean had left him. The older brother bent down and grabbed Sam underneath the armpits.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured comfortingly, "I'm pretty sure that thing's dead now."

As gently as possible, Dean lifted his brother out of the trunk- not an easy feat since Sam was more or less dead weight right now- and settled him on the floor, Sam's back against the wood of the steamer.

Dean knew it would be impossible for him to carry Sam out of the mansion- he was just far too heavy- so he sat down beside his brother to wait until the paralyzing venom wore off.

In the meantime, Dean took inventory of his sibling's injuries. One side of Sam's face from jawline to temple was scraped raw and oozing blood. Sam's abdomen was likewise scraped and riddled with cuts, some of which were still full of broken glass. Dean carefully lifted his brother's shirt and saw scratches crisscrossing his back. They were bleeding as well but didn't look too deep.

"I parked the Impala near the barber's shop," Dean told Sam, "As soon as you can walk we'll head out. I'm going to need to clean those cuts."

Sam didn't reply verbally but the look in his eyes said everything: Thank you Dean, for saving me. I was so scared. I'm glad you're here with me.

SPN

Dean checked his watch. It was two in the morning. The venom wore of slowly. Sam could move his arms and legs but that was it; he would still be unable to stand up properly.

Dean sat right beside his brother, the uninjured side of Sam's face resting against his shoulder.

The older brother startled when Sam gasped- loudly- and shuddered.

"D'n," Sam said, his words slurred.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean murmured and smiled, "Almost back to normal?"

"Y-Yeah… think s'," Sam muttered he turned his head to either side slowly, groaning in pain.

Dean grimaced in sympathy, first being stuffed into an old trunk and paralyzed for the better part of a night had to be wreaking havoc on his brother's muscles.

"Do you think you can stand?" He asked and Sam shook his head slowly, "N'yet."

Dean reached out and squeezed the back of Sam's neck gently, careful to avoid the bite mark that was still red and swollen.

W

With one of Sam's arms across his shoulder, Dean led his sibling out of the bedroom. His brother's gait was unsteady, stiff-legged but at least he was walking.

Sam wrinkled his nose and Dean looked at him curiously.

"Feels like m'legs were 'sleep," he muttered and Dean realized Sam must be experiencing that uncomfortable 'pins and needles' feeling.

"That's just 'cause you haven't moved in a while," Dean told him, "It'll go away soon, Sammy."

Early morning sunlight was breaking through the darkness and sent golden rays in through the manse's grimy windows.

As they made their slow way down the hall, Dean peeked over the railing to the first floor below and his heart stopped in his chest.

The pool of blood remained but the creature did not. It was gone. And if it was gone, that meant it was still alive.

Don't panic, Dean thought, don't upset Sam.

With his free hand, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and took the safety off his gun, pulling the weapon out.

Sam peered down at the gun and frowned, "Was' that for?"

"Just in case," Dean muttered vaguely, eyes keen for signs of movement and ears open for any suspicious sound.

He felt his younger brother grow tense and Sam's eyes widened with fear.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, "I'm not going to let it get you again."

Swish-Swish-Swish

Fuck.

The thing was nearby.

"D'n," Sam whimpered, "Don' let it put me in t'box again."

Dean squeezed his brother comfortingly, "I won't Sammy. It'll be okay."

Dean gazed around but didn't see anything. Damn it!

The brothers inched forward a couple of more steps before he sound came again, closer then before.

Swish-Swish-Swish

Sam started to tremble and Dean was sure he was thinking about-

SwishSwishSwish

Dean shot the monster as it fell from the ceiling and landed in front of them, one side of its head blown away from the hunter's previous bullet.

The monster shrieked as the newest bullet ploughed into its chest and it staggered back.

Dean aimed the gun for the creature's head and fired. The monster though was ready and dodged the bullet.

Shit, Dean thought. He couldn't fight very well while he was holding his brother up; he'd be too slow and cumbersome.

But he couldn't let Sam go either. His brother would be defenseless.

The cockatrice lunged, black beak open wide to bite when a sudden electronic sound stopped it in its tracks.

"Cock-A-Doodle-Do! Cock-A-Doodle-Do! Cock-A-Doodle-Do!"

Dean frowned and glanced around; what the hell was that?

Sam, eyes wide, looked equally confused before he slid a shaking hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone.

His alarm was going off.

The monster was reacting to the electronic rooster crowing.

Dean grabbed the phone from his brother and held it up in front of the monster's face.

The cockatrice's good eye rolled up and it collapse onto the floor of the hallway.

Dean lowered the phone and stared at the creature.

"Is it dead?" he asked no one in particular and nudged the ugly head with his boot. The cockatrice didn't move.

Dean grinned at his brother, "You killed it, Sammy!"

Sam however, looked shocked.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Dean announced and handed Sam his phone back.

The younger man fumbled for a moment before he managed to turn the alarm off and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

W

The rest of the walk to the Impala remained slow going but now both brothers were more relaxed.

Dean carefully helped his sibling into the passenger's seat and cranked up the heat though it was the end of April.

He just couldn't believe their luck. Rarely did something as spectacular as that happen.

The drive back to the motel was short and Dean helped Sam inside.

Although the venom had worn off by now, Sam was still shaken from the entire experience and Dean was sure they'd have to deal with nightmares for a few days.

But for now he would heal what he could.

He helped Sam take his shirt and jacket off and sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat while he patched him up.

Dean cleaned Sam's face with an antiseptic wipe, knowing that the best thing for it was to scab over in the open air. He took his time as he used tweezers to extract the clinging pieces of glass from his brother's abdomen before cleaning the cuts and taping gauze over them. Thankfully none were deep enough to warrant stitches. He then examined Sam's back- wiping the cuts clean with another antibacterial cloth- and the bump on his head. Sam had only a mild concussion; something that would heal on its own in a few days.

Once Sam's injuries were tended to, he cautiously made his way towards his bed. He sat down on the edge as Dean rummaged in the mini fridge the motel room provided and handed him a bottle of water.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, taking a seat beside his brother.

"Sore," Sam answered after a healthy swig of water.

Dean nodded, "You should lie down, get some rest."

Sam ducked his head.

"It's alright, Sammy," Dean said, "If you have any nightmares I'll wake you up."

"Okay," the younger man muttered and set the bottle of water on the nightstand. He lay down on the bed, atop the covers, on his side and closed his eyes.

Dean remained where he was for a moment and he was just about to stand up when his sibling opened his eyes.

"Do you think it's really dead?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said, "I'm sure it is."

"Do you know what it was?" Sam asked.

"I'm not sure but I can look it up if it means that much to you," Dean told him.

"No," Sam replied, "It's just… I'm glad its dead."

Sam closed his eyes again and Dean stood up, stretching.

"I'm glad you came for me," the younger man finished without opening his eyes.

Dean smiled down at his brother.

I'd never abandon you, Sammy.


	29. Clear As A Bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Jennytork: A hunting accident leaves Sam deaf. No one knows if its permanent.   
> Teen!Chester where Sam is 14 and Dean is 18.

"Are you sure, Dean?" Sam asked for the hundredth time.

The eighteen-year old rolled his eyes.

"It's perfectly safe, Sammy," Dean assured his sibling, "The only way to get rid of these guys is by lighting them up."

Sam nodded, his eyes wide. The brothers were hiding behind an old overturned Ford Taurus as they waited for night to fall. John had on a hunt for a ghost the next town over and hadn't needed either of his sons for backup- it would just be a routine Salt-'n-Burn- but the boys soon found that they had their own hands full with the supernatural.

The residents of the town they were staying in- Lima, Washington- had been plagued with odd disappearances for the past two weeks.

It wasn't pets or people that were missing but mirrors, light bulbs, hubcaps, jewelry and anything else that was metallic or bright.

After some researching and interviewing- Sam did the former and Dean did the latter- the brothers discovered the town was infested with gremlins.

Though not necessarily dangerous to humans the creatures were a nuisance.

The only way to get rid of gremlins permanently was by killing them with fire.

So that was why Sam and Dean were taking cover behind a scrap car in front of the abandoned warehouse the gremlins- who looked surprisingly close to the ones from the movie- had congregated in.

Sam peered over the top of the car.

There was no sign of movement yet from the warehouse, its windows glassless and dark, seeming to stare out balefully at the boys.

"Are you sure we're far enough away?" Sam asked nervously.

Dean nodded and laid a hand on the rocket launcher sitting on his lap, "Dad and I have used this before. I know what I'm doing, Sam."

"Couldn't we just do it now?" Sam asked but Dean shook his head, "We've gotta wait 'til the little bastards start coming out."

Sam sighed and stared out at the dirt road behind them. They were far enough away from the town that no one should come upon them before they'd had a chance to kill the gremlins. The warehouse had been in disuse for quite a few years but no one had taken the time to tear it down so it had been left to molder away, home now to the occasional raccoon family- and nest of gremlins.

W

Darkness had fallen by the time Dean peered over the edge of the car and motioned to Sam to do the same.

The fourteen-year old looked up and saw gremlins swarming from the warehouse like insects.

"That's why we needed to wait," Dean whispered and settled the rocket launcher against his shoulder, "Better cover your ears."

Sam nodded and ducked down, his hands against pressed against the sides of his head.

The car shook and Dean staggered back slightly as he pulled the trigger and the shell was released.

Dean sat down heavily beside his brother, dropped the weapon and put his fingers in his ears.

The car shuddered again and Sam could see orange light glowing behind them, casting their shadows on the pavement.

Dean sat up and glanced at the warehouse.

"Whoohoo!" he cried triumphantly, "Sammy, come look at this!"

The fourteen-year old scrambled to his feet and stared wide-eyed and open mouthed at the warehouse; his hands fell to his sides with shock. Where the front doors used to be there was now a gaping hole, orange and red flames spurted from the empty windows. Gremlins erupted from the building, many on fire, screaming and dying.

"That's awsome, De-"

Sam was thrown backwards as an explosion tore through the warehouse and pushed outwards, sending pieces of burning brick and mortar flying.

Sam slammed into the pavement a dozen feet away from where he and Dean had been hiding and lost consciousness instantly, his head slamming into the cracked asphalt.

SPN

Dean picked himself up. He wasn't too badly injured. He wasn't bleeding, which was a relief.

He glanced to his right and was alarmed to see no sign of his brother.

"SAM!" Dean shouted over the roar of the fire behind him.

"SAM!' he called again before spotting a form sprawled out on the pavement a dozen feet away.

Dean ran forward, cursing a sprained ankle that sent stabbing pain up his whole leg every time he took a step. At least, he hoped it was just sprained.

"Sammy," the eighteen-year old said and fell onto his knees beside his brother, "Oh God, please be okay."

He reached out and pressed two fingers to his sibling's neck, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse.

Sam stirred and blinked groggily up at him.

"Sam, are you hurt?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned at him but said nothing.

Concussion, Dean thought and picked up his brother, one arm supporting the fourteen-year old's back while the other rested beneath his knees.

Sam curled up instantly against Dean's chest like he used to when he was a toddler and closed his eyes.

Dean ran back to the overturned car, grabbing the rocket launcher and then headed full-tilt- careful not to jostle his brother too much- across the parking lot to the road to the car he had 'borrowed'.

Since John had the Impala, Dean had needed some form of transportation to get to the warehouse and had jacked a car that had been sitting- apparently unwanted- in the parking lot of the same motel they were staying at. The rocket launcher had been slipped from the 67' Chevy's trunk the night John left for his hunt. John didn't even know Dean had it.

The eighteen-year old opened the car door and settled his brother onto the passenger's seat carefully. He sat the launcher in the backseat and ran around the front of the car to the driver's side.

"It's going to be okay," Dean muttered to himself as he started the vehicle and pulled out onto the road, "It'll be fine."

The eighteen-year old drove recklessly, concerned only with getting his brother back to their motel room. Sam was curled up in the passenger's seat, his eyes closed tightly.

Dean pressed his foot down on the gas and relaxed when he saw the sign for the motel they were staying at. He thanked his lucky stars when he saw that the Impala was still missing from its parking spot. Maybe he'd get Sam checked out and into bed before John returned.

Pulling into the parking lot and stopping the car exactly where he had found it, Dean got out and ran across to the passenger's side, grabbing Sam- picking him up like a toddler so that Dean had one arm beneath his brother's bottom- and the rocket launcher.

Hurrying across the parking lot, Dean stepped up onto the sidewalk and set the bazooka aside, taking his key out and opening the door to the motel room.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes as Dean carried him into their room, his older brother closing the door tightly behind them.

He clutched Dean's shirt and buried his face into his shoulder.

His head heart and his ears were ringing.

He looked up when he felt Dean set him down on his bed and saw his lips moving but Sam couldn't hear his brother's words over the sound of the ringing.

Sam shook his head, "I can't hear you."

Dean looked taken aback for a moment before he leaned forward so that his face was only inches from Sam's.

His lips moved in the same way and Sam had an idea that Dean speaking louder but he still couldn't hear him.

Sam shook his head and put his hands on his ears, "I can't hear you."

Dean said a single word and stepped back, running a hand across his mouth.

Sam watched as his brother's eyes darted to the motel stationary and Dean grabbed it from the table, pulling a pen from the pocket of his jeans.

Sam watched as Dean scrawled something down on the paper before showing it to him: Are you hurt anywhere?

"My head," Sam told him and raised a hand to touch the back of his head with his fingers.

Dean nodded and instantly checked Sam's head, poking and prodding gently.

Dean seemed satisfied that Sam wasn't gushing blood and picked up the notepad again: Are you feeling dizzy? Tired?

Sam paused before nodding. Dean looked as though he had expected as much.

Are your ears ringing?

Sam nodded again. That was it; he had a concussion. All he needed was rest and the symptoms should go away in a while. He'd had concussions before but he'd never experienced this high-pitched ringing. He must have hit his head pretty hard then.

Get some rest Sammy. I'll make sure to wake you up.

Sam nodded gratefully and pulled his shoes off. He dropped them at the side of his bed and watched as Dean moved to the end of his own bed, limping slightly.

"Dean," Sam said, causing his brother to jump, "Are you okay?"

Dean turned and nodded, giving him the 'thumbs up'.

Sam nodded and lay down, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the ringing.

SPN

Dean was now not as worried about his brother as he'd been earlier; Sam was just suffering the effects of smashing his head against the ground but he'd be fine again in a few hours.

Sam hadn't noticed but he was almost yelling as he spoke, meaning that the ringing in his ears must be pretty damn loud. Dean was sure it would fade as the other symptoms dissipated.

He was glad that they hadn't sustained any serious injuries, a concussion and a sprained ankle was pretty mild.

Speaking of, Dean bent down and slipped the boot off his uninjured foot before carefully easing the second one away from his banged up ankle.

He hissed in pain as he had to fight with the footwear but it eventually came off. He pulled his sock off and rolled his pant leg up.

Dean's ankle was swollen about two sizes and was bruised.

"Shit," he muttered.

The ankle was sure to be tender for a few days but Dean was sure it wasn't serious; as long as he could manage to stay off it as much as possible.

Glancing at the time on the alarm sitting on the nightstand, Dean wished he could go to sleep but he had to stay up to make sure Sam was okay. Instead he grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

W

"Dean! What the hell is that doing in here?!"

John's voice startled the eighteen-year old awake.

Dean looked up, blinking tiredly at his father's formidable form standing at the end of his bed.

"What?" Dean asked sleepily.

He looked around; the television was still on and Sam appeared to be sound asleep.

Sam!

Shit! Dean had fallen asleep and hadn't woken his brother when he needed to.

Instead of answering his father's question, the eighteen-year old leaped out of bed and called out to his brother as he approached.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy, wake up," Dean reached out and touched his brother's shoulder and the younger boy woke suddenly, peering owlishly up at him.

"Dad's back," Dean said and turned to his father.

"What?" Sam asked loudly and Dean's heart just about stopped.

"Dean, what's going on? Why is the rocket launcher in here and what did you do to your leg?" John interrupted.

Dean took a deep breath and turned to his father, "We needed it to get rid of some gremlins in town."

He turned his attention to his brother when he felt Sam tugging at his sleeve.

"Dean!" Sam cried, "The ringing!"

"Dean," John said, "What is he talking about?"

The eighteen-year old sighed.

"We had a little accident," Dean admitted sheepishly, knowing that his Dad was going to be pissed at him either way, "We were a little too close to the warehouse."

"Damn it, Dean!" John snapped, "Why didn't you wait until I came back and let me deal with it?"

Dean shrugged, "I've seen you use that bazooka a dozen times and thought I could handle it."

The eldest Winchester's face was red with fury.

"I've told you a dozen times not to use it when I'm not with you, Dean! It's not a toy! It's a military-grade weapon!"

Dean glanced down.

"Now, what the hell happened?" John asked, "I want details."

Without looking up, Dean explained how, at first, the building had burned, as it should have- killing the gremlins- before unexpectedly exploding.

"Did you check to see what was in the warehouse besides gremlins?" John asked tensely.

Dean shook his head, "I… just figured it was empty."

"Anything could have been in there!" John informed him, "You're just lucky it wasn't chemicals."

Dean nodded; it could have been a lot worse.

"Sam and I kind of got thrown… and he hit his head," Dean told his father.

John now turned to his youngest, "Concussion?"

Dean nodded, "He's got ringing in his ears."

The eldest Winchester frowned and stepped over to the fourteen-year old's bed. He leaned forward until his nose was only inches from Sam's.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

Sam's eyes were wide and damp with tears.

John cut eyes at his eldest, "I don't think this was caused by the concussion, Dean."

The hunter had seen his fair share of horrific injuries during the war: limbs blown off by mines, bullet wounds, even the aftereffects of Agent Orange but he also knew of men who lost their hearing from the constant artillery fire that surrounded them, the loud explosions of sound damaging their ears.

"What… what do you mean?" Dean asked nervously, "It's not permanent, is it?"

"I don't know," John said, "We'll have to take Sam to the doctor's first thing in the morning to get him checked out."

Sam turned to stare at Dean; clearly scared and confused.

"We should all try and get some rest," John said brusquely.

Dean nodded and climbed onto the bed beside Sam. He wrapped a comforting arm around his brother's shoulders.

Sam reached up and grabbed his shirt like he used to do when he was a toddler and had woken from a nightmare.

John sat down on Dean's vacated bed and pulled off his boots. He was facing away from his sons and Dean knew he was still angry with him; why wouldn't he be?

The father grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, lying down with his back to his boys.

Dean reached out and turned the light on the nightstand off, shifting down until he was lying with Sam resting against his chest.

What have I done? Dean thought as he stared up at the dark ceiling.

SPN

John couldn't believe how irresponsible his eldest son was. He had told Dean not to play around with the weapons they used, especially the bazooka. The shells for the rocket launcher weren't exactly easy to come by and it could be very dangerous if used incorrectly; as Dean had so wonderfully displayed.

The teen was just lucky local authorities hadn't seen him with it.

John checked his watch. He and Dean had been sitting in the emergency waiting room of Lima's only hospital for over four hours. Which wasn't surprising; if a person wasn't gushing blood they were in for a long wait. Sam had been taken into a room two hours ago now.

John hoped that Dean's mistake wouldn't cost his youngest son his hearing. He didn't know what to do if Sam's hearing loss was permanent.

"I'm going to get some coffee," Dean said, "You want any?"

John shook his head without looking at his son; he wasn't ready to forgive the eighteen-year old just yet.

W

Another hour dragged by with no word of how Sam was doing with his tests when a doctor suddenly appeared, "Family of Samuel Winchester?"

John stood up instantly, his back protesting the sudden movement after remaining seated for so long.

"I'm his father, John," he told the doctor and the man shook his head.

"I'm Doctor Tweed," he introduced himself.

"Is Sam going to be okay?" Dean asked and Dr. Tweed looked at him for a moment before John introduced his eldest.

"If you'll come with me," Dr. Tweed said, "Samuel's waiting for you."

John felt his heart rate speed up.

Was Sam okay? Or had the damage to his ears been permanent?

He and Dean followed the doctor down the hallway and into an exam room where Sam was sitting on the paper-covered table.

"Samuel," Dr. Tweed began but John interrupted.

"It's Sam."

The doctor stared at the father, "Excuse me?"

John frowned at the physician, "He likes to be called Sam, not Samuel."

Dean sat down beside his brother on the table and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Sam," Dr. Tweed repeated, "Has developed Tinnitus due to exposure to a loud noise, causing trauma to the cells of his inner ear. Tinnitus is the constant ring-"

John held up a hand, "I know what it is, Doctor, thank you. What I want to know is if it is going to be permanent."

The doctor looked somewhat ruffled at having been interrupted in the middle of his speech but John could have cared less. The man had terrible bedside manners anyway.

"I do not believe that Samuel will suffer from this permanently," the doctor replied, calling the fourteen-year old by his full name again, "As long as he rests. He should stay away from any loud sounds that could cause profound damage. The ringing should stop in a few weeks."

John's shoulders slumped with relief. He glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye and saw that his son looked just as happy with the news.

"I would advise that your son refrain from future activities that could cause permanent hearing loss," Dr. Tweed explained, "Now that his ears have been damaged it will become easier for Samuel to lose his hearing."

John nodded.

"Can we take Sam home now?" he asked and the doctor nodded.

The fourteen-year old hopped off the table and walked out of the exam room with his brother.

John followed his boys at a distance.

Sam was going to be alright. His hearing would return and he'd be able to hunt again soon.

SPN

Dean rode shotgun on the way back to the motel room. They were just going to pick up their things and head out of town. He hadn't turned on the stereo, as he usually would have. He loved listening to the music as loud as he could stand but he refrained now for Sam's sake.

Dean still felt guilty for his actions the night before. He should have known better. He should have listened to his father.

Dean knew that it would be a long time before he touched the rocket launcher, if he ever did so again.

As a result of his own stupidity he'd almost hurt his brother beyond repair.

Dean just hoped that Dr. Tweed was right and that Sam's Tinnitus would clear up within a couple of weeks.

In the meantime, it was going to be a pain in the ass having to write everything down.

It could be worse, Dean thought, you could be learning sign language right now instead of having to communicate through writing for a couple of weeks.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes tiredly. He was exhausted. That ringing in his ears made it difficult to sleep, to concentrate; it was really driving him nuts.

It never stopped, just one long, continuous chiming sound that blocked out every other sound.

He couldn't even go to school like this. All he could do was stay in the motel room while his father and brother went hunting without him. Not that Sam really wanted to go hunting, but staying in was making him stir-crazy.

John wasn't in the room; he'd likely left early to interview the witnesses to the latest monster he and Dean were hunting; Sam's brother looked a little too young to be an FBI agent and so had remained behind.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said, "What do you want for breakfast?"

Sam looked up sharply. He'd just heard his brother speak! He could still hear the ringing but it had faded considerably from what it had been.

"Oh, shit," Dean muttered, reaching for a pad of paper and a pencil, "I forgot."

"Dean!" Sam cried happily, "I can hear! I can hear you!"

Dean dropped the paper and rushed over to him.

"You can?" he asked, hands on Sam's shoulders.

The fourteen-year old reached up and grabbed his sibling's hands, "Yeah! I can!"

Tears stung Sam's eyes. He knew that the doctor had said the Tinnitus should wear off but as the days passed he'd been less and less confident that the physician had been right. He'd been afraid that he'd be plagued with listening to only that bell-like chiming for the rest of his life.

Sam hugged his brother, ecstatic.

"What do you say we celebrate?" Dean asked, "How does pancakes at the diner sound?"

Sam looked up at Dean and grinned, "Sounds great, Dean."


	30. Thicker Than Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt comes from Carolina888: Sam gets hurt while with Ruby and she has to call Dean. Dean doesn't really want to see the demon but his concern for Sam outweighs his dislike of Ruby.  
> Set in Season 4.

Dean didn't trust Ruby.

No, that was a bit of an understatement.

He hated her.

And the thought of his brother hanging around with her made his skin crawl.

But Sam refused to listen to him.

Dean was certain that the bitch had brainwashed his brother while he'd been in Hell.

And why not?

With him gone, Ruby was in the perfect position to become the proverbial shoulder to cry on.

But she was still a demon and Dean would bet all the weapons in the Impala's trunk that she had an ulterior motive for becoming all chummy with his brother.

Dean didn't know how many times he had to tell his sibling that Ruby was a demon and she did not really care about him.

But Sam would only get angry with him and tell Dean he didn't know what he was talking about.

Dean tried not to blame his brother- Ruby, after all had had four months to make sure Sam was wrapped tightly around her little finger- but it pissed him off nonetheless.

From the start Dean had refused to buy the whole 'I'm a demon but I remember what its like to be human' spiel. Dean now had 'years' of experience to see right through Ruby's charade. Souls had no shred of humanity in them once they became demons. Both he and Ruby knew there was no way to save him from going to Hell and all the demon was doing was giving Sam false hope.

So what was she up to now?

Sam claimed he'd stopped seeing her but Dean wasn't stupid. Sam thought he didn't notice when he'd slip out of the motel room in the middle of the night or take a little too long when picking up food using the facilities of a grungy gas station.

Dean trusted Ruby as far as he could throw her the moment he had met her and that hadn't changed. He was certain she was planning something nefarious and his brother was right in the crossfire.

Dean just didn't want to see his brother hurt. Not after everything that had happened.

Not with everything that was happening.

W

So when Dean's cell phone rang and he answered because it said that Sam was calling but it was Ruby who spoke, the eldest Winchester was instantly suspicious.

"The fuck do you want?" Dean snapped by way of greeting, "And where is Sam?"

"He had a run-in with some of your new BFFs," Ruby told him.

"What?" Dean snapped. He didn't really want to play games with the demon.

"The angels," Ruby sighed, "Who else?"

"Shit," Dean swore, "Is he okay?"

"He's in the hospital right now," Ruby explained, "That's all I know. They won't let me see him 'cause I'm not family."

"Uh huh," Dean replied; he was sure that if the demon really wanted to see Sam, no doctor or security guard was going to stop her.

"And where were you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Me? I was hiding," Ruby told him, "Not too far, just enough so that those assholes didn't see me."

"You left Sam alone?" Dean asked, horrified at the thought of his brother facing angels on his own.

"What was I supposed to do, Dipshit? They'd have killed me on the spot," Ruby said defensively, "Poor Sam just sticks out like a sore thumb."

"Where is he? I'm coming," Dean demanded, not wanting to hear anymore of the demon's excuses.

Sure he didn't expect Ruby to take a bullet for his brother but the way she was clinging onto him sure seemed like she needed him- and needed him alive- for whatever the hell she had planned.

The demon told Dean the name of the hospital and the name his brother had been admitted under- Sam Weston- and within minutes the eldest Winchester was on the road, music blaring from the Impala's speakers as he headed down the road.

SPN

Sam didn't like lying to Dean.

He didn't enjoy it.

Lying to his brother, after everything he'd done, gave Sam no pleasure.

But he knew that if he told Dean what he was doing, his brother would flip out.

Sam knew Dean didn't trust Ruby so it was best not to say anything, to pretend that they had broken it off and avoid any arguments.

Once Lilith was dead and the Apocalypse averted, Sam would be able to breathe freely.

Now it felt as though he were stepping on eggshells around his brother. He hated having to sneak around and make up stories to explain where he had been or why he had taken longer than usual for an errand.

Or why his powers, that had suddenly been strong enough to destroy the likes of Alistair, where now so puny he couldn't knock out even a random nameless demon.

But Ruby ensured him he would get stronger.

And Sam believed her.

He had to.

Sam needed to become strong enough to kill Lilith and stop the end of the world.

Dean thought it was his job but after all that he had been through; Sam needed to do something for him.

Ruby's knife wouldn't work on the first demon anyway but she insisted that his ill-gotten powers would, though.

And Sam believed her.

"When," he asked again as they walked down the crowded sidewalk, looking for a secluded spot to stop, "When will I be strong enough?"

Ruby sighed and looked up at him, one hand on his arm.

"Be patient Sam," she said, slightly exasperated, "You need to pace yourself too. Drinking too much at one time could really hurt you."

"I can't be patient!" Sam snapped- earning him curious looks from other pedestrians- and glared down at the demon, "While we wait, Lilith is breaking Seals and coming closer to destroying the whole planet!"

Sam raked his free hand through his hair and sighed, "And I can't keep lying to Dean like this."

Ruby nodded, "I know."

"Here," She announced suddenly and led Sam into an alleyway between a Chinese restaurant and a tattoo parlour.

The alley was open on either end- the opposite end opening onto an employees parking lot for the businesses in the front and saw filled with dirty cardboard boxes, rotting food from the restaurant and cigarette butts.

Sam and Ruby walked towards the far end of the alley, the demon eyeing a pile of greasy boxes they could hide behind when her hand slipped from the hunter's arm and the young man looked around, shocked to find her gone.

"Ru-" Sam began but his words were cut off when he was suddenly slammed against the brick wall of the tattoo parlour.

Sam struggled but found his was pinned by an unseen force, his feet dangling an inch from the grimy cement floor.

He heard footsteps and turned his head. Uriel was walking towards him from the direction of the employees' parking lot, a disgusted expression on his face.

"Sam Winchester," a voice said from the hunter's other side, stepping into the alleyway from the sidewalk.

This angel's host was unfamiliar. He was tall- though not as tall as Sam- and looked to be in his fifties. He had a balding head with grey hair and dark eyes.

"We haven't met," the angel said, "Though I've heard a lot about you."

Sam continued to fight the invisible force holding him still; he knew that the angels were likely not here to talk.

"All good things, I hope," he said and the strange angel laughed but the sound had no humour in it.

"You were told to stop," the angel said, "And yet here you are. In the company of a demon, completely ignoring Heaven's design-"

Sam couldn't help but snort derisively.

"Was it Heaven's design to send Dean to Hell? For him to be tortured?"

"How dare you talk back to us, Abomination!" Uriel snapped but the other angel held out a hand.

The celestial creature walked forward until he was standing right in front of Sam.

"You cannot possibly fathom Heaven's design, boy," the angel said quietly.

Sam shook his head, "I don't care about what Heaven has planned. I'm not doing this for shits and giggles. I'm trying to stop Lilith, isn't that what you want? For her to be dead?"

The new angel nodded, "Yes, but not by your hand. It is not your job to kill the first demon."

"Your brother is chosen," Uriel said, sounding as though he liked Dean every bit as much as he liked Sam, "He is meant to kill Lilith."

"He can't," Sam argued.

The other angel shook his head, "That is not your choice."

Uriel turned at his fellow angel, "Zachariah, we do not need to explain ourselves to a miserable creature such as this."

Zachariah nodded and looked Sam over, "Now that we have your attention, boy, there are some issues that must be taken care of."

The hunter glanced at Uriel, the archangel's threat on his life now seeming all too real to no longer becoming a threat.

"It is understandable that when Azazel poisoned your blood all those years ago you were but an infant," Zachariah said, "And free of blame. That is not punishable."

Sam swallowed, his heart beating fast in his chest.

"But your recent activities are cause for concern," the angel continued.

"If you kill me Dean's gonna come after you," Sam said, his mouth dry, "Angels or not. I'm sure you know just how pissed he can get."

Zachariah smirked, "We are not going to kill you, dear boy."

The promise did nothing to ease Sam's nerves.

"We will simply remove the taint from you," the angel informed him and Sam's eyebrows knitted in confusion before the force holding him up suddenly disappeared and he fell to his hands and knees.

He hissed in pain as his kneecaps cracked against the cement and made to stand up-

Sam couldn't move again. He looked up and saw Uriel staring smugly down at him.

"You are unfit to stand before us, Abomination," the archangel sneered.

The young man looked to Zachariah and couldn't deny that he was frightened. The angels were powerful and Sam had only barely witnessed the extent of their power.

The angel held out a hand, palm up and curled his fingers into claws suddenly.

Sam gasped as searing pain filled his abdomen. It felt as though his insides had been replaced with hot oil.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut but the pain did not dissipate, instead it seemed to intensify and tears began to drip down his face.

"S-Stop," Sam begged, his arms and legs shaking.

"P-Pl-" He tried again but his plea was cut short when warm wetness began to crawl up his throat.

I'm going to puke, Sam thought an instant before it happened.

He heard the splatter, felt warm liquid splash his hands and arms and face and opened his eyes.

Blood.

There was blood in the ground in front of him.

He had thrown up blood.

Sam's eyes widened with shock even as he was sick a second time, bright red blood forcing its way up his throat and out his mouth.

He could taste copper on his tongue along with something more foul- sulfur- just the thought of it made him throw up again.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath. His abdomen ached and his limbs were shaking.

"Please, stop," Sam begged now that he had a chance to speak but when he looked up at the angels he knew they were only beginning.

W

Sam groaned in misery. He could barely keep his head up. The only thing keeping him from collapsing was the knowledge that he'd only land in his own vomit if he did.

Sam felt dizzy and exhausted. He didn't know how much blood he had expelled but he knew it had to be too much.

He slowly lifted his head and looked past Zachariah towards the end of the alley.

There was a man standing in the mouth of the alleyway, talking on a cell phone.

"Hey!" Sam cried as loudly as he could, his throat raw, "Help me!"

The man didn't react.

"They cannot hear you," Uriel informed him, "Or see you."

Sam looked up at the archangel with red-rimmed eyes, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Angels were supposed to be the good guys. They were supposed to be kind and gentle and help those who believed in God.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to him. Not to Sam. He had believed in God and Heaven and angels since he'd been small, even when everything went to shit, even when his father and brother would have nothing to do with such things, Sam believed. He believed that if he was good and kind and gentle than he would one day go to Heaven when he died.

Now he didn't know what to believe. Everything he'd thought he knew had been dashed to pieces upon meeting Castiel and Uriel.

The angels didn't care about helping anyone but themselves. It didn't matter that Sam had had so much faith and had tried to be good; he was still a monster… an abomination in their eyes.

All they saw when they looked at him was the demon blood running through his veins.

It didn't matter that he was trying to stop the Apocalypse, to save people, because he was a monster, he was tainted.

He didn't even wait to hear Uriel's answer. Sam lowered his head as tears sprang fresh into his eyes.

The young man cried out weakly when he was picked up by an invisible force and slammed bodily against the brick wall.

He was covered in blood and vomit. His eyes stung and throbbed from crying and it hurt to breathe.

Sam wondered what the angels were going to do to him now.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Zachariah asked, hands behind his back.

Sam didn't say anything.

"Do not make us return," Uriel warned, "There are many things worse than death."

The force holding Sam up vanished and he fell to the ground, hitting his head against the pavement and losing consciousness.

SPN

Dean rushed between the Emergency area's sliding glass windows and up to the nurses' desk.

"I'm here for Sam Weston," he told the startled blonde nurse, "I'm his brother, Dean."

The young woman nodded, "I'll contact the doctor, please take a seat."

Dean nodded and moved away from the desk. He caught sight of a familiar brunette and walked towards the demon, frowning.

Ruby saw him and met him halfway. She didn't look happy but Dean could have cared less about her feelings.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, leaning into Ruby's personal space.

"I told you," she said, "Angels jumped us."

Dean narrowed his eyes for a moment.

"Do you know who?"

The demon chuckled, "Do I look like I keep up with Heaven's version of Facebook? I have no idea who they were."

Dean sighed. Great, more fucking angels coming out of the woodwork. Just what he needed right now.

"I think one was an archangel though," Ruby said thoughtfully, "I could sense their power and his was immense."

Dean nodded. That narrowed it down a bit at least.

"Family of Samuel Weston?" a female doctor with curly red hair called and Dean turned instantly to her.

"He's my brother," Dean said as he shook the woman's hand and she introduced herself as Dr. Baxter.

Dean followed the woman as she began leading him out of the Emergency waiting room.

"What about me?" Ruby asked, following.

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the demon and then at Dean.

"She's with me," Dean grumbled and Ruby smiled at him.

"How is he, doc?" Dean asked anxiously.

"I don't think your brother will suffer any permanent damage," Dr. Baxter explained, "But I have to say, his injuries were odd."

Dean frowned, "Odd how?"

"Your brother lost a lot of blood," Dr. Baxter explained, "An alarming amount in fact. But I could not find anything that could have caused it."

Dean glanced at Ruby from the corner of his eye.

"He's uh," the eldest Winchester stalled for a moment, "Got that thing where you just bleed everywhere."

"Hemophilia," Ruby supplied the correct name.

Dr. Baxter looked placated.

"The smallest cut," Dean continued, "And Sammy's gushing blood like a fountain."

"Here we are," they stopped before a closed door at the end of a long hallway, "I would like for your brother to remain here another day or so until he is fully recovered."

Dean nodded, "No problem."

The doctor opened the door and Dean and Ruby stepped inside.

Sam was lying in bed, wearing a hospital gown, the blanket pulled up to his chest. He had a laminated bracelet on one wrist and two IV lines in his hand- one giving blood the other nutrients to keep him hydrated. His face was very pale and he had dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Sammy," Dean said and stepped forward, sitting down in the chair provided for visitors.

The young man opened his eyes halfway.

"Hey," he replied tiredly.

Dean reached out and touched his brother's hand.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

Dean wanted to ask Sam more, wanted to know exactly what those winged assholes had done to him but he would have to wait.

Sam was clearly in no condition to answer those kinds of questions.

"Mm," Sam muttered, "Stomach hurts. Mm tired."

Dean nodded, "Your doctor wants to keep you for a couple of more days so you can rest as much as you need."

"Glad you came," Sam said quietly.

"Of course I did, Sammy," Dean replied, "The end of days can wait, you're in the hospital."

Sam smiled slightly and then frowned when he caught sight of the demon standing behind Dean.

"Ruby," he said and the girl stepped forward.

"Hi Sam," she greeted.

The young man's gaze went from the demon to his brother and back again. His already pale face seemed to grow even paler.

"Dean, I-" He began, panic clear in his eyes but Dean held up a hand.

"We can talk when you get out of here, okay?"

Sam's mouth hung open in shock for a moment before he nodded.

He swallowed and tears welled up in his eyes.

"Hey," Dean said, "Don't do that… hey… it's okay, I'm not mad."

"Uh…okay," Sam muttered.

"And that's my cue to leave," Ruby announced, she reached forward and squeezed Sam's wrist, "See you around."

Both Winchesters watched her walk out of the room before Dean turned to look at his sibling.

He bit his tongue.

Whatever the hell was going on between Sam and Ruby could wait. He didn't want to be grilling his brother right now while he was recovering from the angels' attack.

There would be plenty of time to talk once Sam was out.

Dean sighed and gripped Sam's hand tightly.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said, "When Ruby said you were in the hospital… well… I thought the worst."

Sam nodded, wide-eyed.

Dean released his brother's hand and leaned back. He didn't say anything for a long while and Sam closed his eyes, falling asleep.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered quietly, "I'm sorry Heaven wasn't everything you dreamed it would be. I'm sorry I got you dragged into this Apocalypse with me."

Dean ran a hand over his face and sighed.

"But everything's going to be okay, little brother. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to protect you, even if its from angels."

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title is taken from a T.S. Eliot quote, "April is the cruelest month."


End file.
